Beyond the Mask of Darkness
by ForeverACharmedOne
Summary: Count Dracula is sent back to earth to wreak havoc, just as the vampire king is supposed to. However, he has new chains that bind him to the devil. And yet a simple girl may be the one to truly break them and give him freedom.*DracOC CupidPsyche inspired*
1. Prologue

This will be DraculaOC based off the Greek myth CupidPsyche(aka ErosPsyche). I'm not going to copy the myth, but try my best to make it my own without falling into the typical cliche of 'some innocent girl being visited at night by a dark lover coughDraculacough.' Though I think Cupid and Psyche can safely be considered the original night lovers.

One line featured is from _The Divine Comedy_. Also, the rating for this might go up somewhere along the line from 'T' to 'M.' It depends.

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**Prologue:**

The glory of old is gone  
With the loveliness of light;  
High fortune capers and dances there  
On the terrible edge of night.

- Aeschylus, _The House of Atreus,_ Act II

_Hell 1889_

Hell. That one word held many definitions that could serve as a description to an even greater variety of situations. It could refer to a point of hardship and agony in one's life, brutal destruction of a country and its countrymen, or most often to the infamous place of torment. For Count Vladislaus Draguila, it meant all of the above. The ghosts of hell had shadowed him everywhere, from his mortal life's struggles as the Dragon _voivode_, to his years as a vampire long after his pact with the devil. Hell had always been a malicious, looming abyss that threatened to swallow him up should he make a disastrous miscalculation.

And now it had.

His enemies wished him nothing but to be imprisoned in the deepest pit hell had to offer, and for the past year since his second murder their wish had been granted. While Dracula had committed many wicked deeds in Lucifer's name, Lucifer directed his plans in the present, only using past errors as a means of moving forward – after such errors were dealt with cruel and merciless retribution.

There had once been a time ages ago when he had proudly declared himself the "Son of the Dragon." Now he was the "Son of the Devil." But who was it truly better to be the son of? Neither Dragon nor Devil had served him well as a proper father. But who he was and who he is made no difference. His deal was binding, and the devil himself had warned him when he had first knocked on hell's door, "_Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate."_ (Abandon all hope, ye who enter here) He had ignored that single warning, and had accepted the Tempter's proposition with open arms.

On many occasions Lucifer had personally seen to his punishment, ensuring that it was as cruel, painful, and prolonged as possible. Sometimes his torture called for oceans of his blood to spill upon the obsidian floor, while other agonies jeered relentlessly within his own mind. The torture in his mind was far worse than any physical suffering. In the mind, there was no escape, just endless pain. Those particular punishments often left him with the notion that nothing of him would remain but a mind that would always know pain should he ever escape this.

But his punishment seemed to have at long last come to an end, as his torture had not been continued for several days – or was it hours? Perhaps now Lucifer had tired of inflicting torture on his favorite creation, no longer attacking body and mind relentlessly day after day, night after night until Dracula was certain that sticky crimson was bleeding from his very eyes for the maggots to drink. Now, he kneeled in Lucifer's throne room waiting for him to speak.

"Ah, Count Vladislaus Dracula," Lucifer began as he entered his throne room, his aura combustive and dark. "How nice of you to grant an audience with me," he mocked, looking his worn, beaten servant over. "You summoned me," Dracula hissed bitterly, not meeting Lucifer's cold, pitiless eyes, eyes of a serpent. _The_ Serpent. Lucifer grinned and a lone tooth flashed, giving him a savage appearance. "Yes, and I see while you fail in all other aspects, you are at least still obedient to my rule."

Dracula tightly pursed his lips to keep himself from responding aloud. _I only obey because you have granted me escape. Though perhaps what I thought was escape has only been a deceitful imprisonment._

"Imprisonment is in the eye of the beholder," Lucifer replied, his harsh eyes angrily boring into the vampire before him. Dracula cautiously lifted his eyes to meet his master's livid ones, unease filling him like water filling a hollow gourd. It had been so long since he had to fear for his own thoughts. Others feared for their minds because of _him_.

"You forget where you are, Count," he spoke in a low hiss. "You forget who you sold your soul to! Who has complete power over you!" The devil slowly approached his servant, barely an inch between them. "You are arrogant, far too arrogant, and so you have become indolent."

"I am not indolent!" Dracula growled. "I have never been lazy! It was Gabriel Van Helsing – "

"Silence!" Lucifer roared, his dark eyes glittering a dull scarlet. "Your master speaks!"

Dracula fell silent, but his jaw was set hard and his eyes burned with anger. He was not lazy! Did all the evil he had done mean absolutely _nothing? _It appeared that because of one error, his past successes did indeed mean nothing to Lucifer. And this new regard of inferiority was all because of one mistake.

"The Left Hand of God has succeeded in killing you not once, but twice. If you are not lazy and incompetent, then what are you?" Lucifer left the question hanging. "Your failure to kill the Left Hand is what once again cost you your life! You had countless opportunities to dispose of him, but instead you sent your brides out, letting them do your dirty work!"

"I was dedicating my time and energy to my progeny!" Dracula spat defensively.

"Yes," Lucifer sneered, his eyes flaring with mockery. "Your _progeny._ I'm glad you brought that little escapade up. It was a foolish waste of our efforts. There are other ways for you to conquer mortals. Fatherhood is not one of them. There is no need for it. You can continue your kind by the usual means of conversion."

Dracula froze, his previous anger fading like cool water among the hot sands of the Arabian Desert. He didn't show it, but he felt like he had been struck, the repercussions of Lucifer's last words cutting into him much deeper than he'd ever consent to acknowledge. "Yes," he finally agreed softly, his eyes regretful. "No need for me to… to be a father."

Lucifer smiled with satisfaction at his servant. "Good. You understand. Remember, you are a heartless, forsaken wretch. No one will have you Vladislaus, save for me. Not even God would welcome you with open arms! You would do well to remember that."

Dracula did not answer. This was true. There was no going back from the beast he was. He'd always be this cold, bloodthirsty animal of Satan, and nothing, and nobody could ever change that. He had always thought he had fully accepted that, but now and again he still had brief moments of remorse for the hunted creature he was.

"Now," Lucifer continued as he circled his servant the way a vulture would circle a rare and prized carrion. "I have a twist in mind for my plans, a way to test your true and utmost loyalty to me."

"I have been nothing if not loyal to you," Dracula reminded him with annoyance, weary of being the never-ending object of Lucifer's flaming criticism.

Lucifer smiled coldly, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Yes," he agreed. "In fact you are so loyal to me, that you continuously find yourself back in my realm! Tell me, Vladislaus, do you truly desire my company so much as to fail your assignment just so you can see me? I'm touched."

Dracula pulled his lips back to snarl at Lucifer's mocking, but remained silent. It would do him no good to anger his master now, especially since the only way he would be sent back was if Lucifer wished it. He'd play along with Lucifer now, but once he was back on earth,_ he _would be the master. "Truly," Dracula replied cynically. "You are an inspiration to us all. Evil would never survive if not for you."

Lucifer laughed a loud, hollow laugh. "You're forgetting that I _am_, Evil!" Then the devil ceased his laughter at the Count's dry humor. He stood before Dracula so that his every snakelike quality from his coiled posture up to his narrowed eyes would be held at attention.

"Now, Count. In regards to your loyalty, I have a few changes to make to our original agreement. I have for you a simple test."

"Test?" Dracula questioned, refraining from allowing his suspicion to show.

"Yes. Your garden of hubris has over-grown. I'm simply trimming it for you. Over the past four hundred years, I have allowed you to take three brides for your pleasure. That was a grave mistake.

"For you see, with each bride you grew more dependent and slothful. And when I say this, I mean that you sent them out to see to do work you should have taken care of personally. There is something to that saying 'if you want something done right you do it yourself' nonsense."

"And?"

"And," Lucifer continued. "I have reasoned that in order for me to use my power to send you back to earth, that you must remain in complete darkness at all times."

"What!" Dracula demanded. This was a violation of his rights as the vampire king! A privilege reserved for him to have the power to observe the brilliant, golden orb that gave humans light. The sun could hurt him, but not kill him. It was in their bargain!

"You must remain in darkness when in the presence of women," Lucifer corrected himself. "This is an exercise to test your discipline and obedience. Surely you are familiar with such challenges. Also, it will prove to be quite the sport for me. With _your_ sexual history, this will be a great challenge to test your compliance. I look forward to watching that."

"So I am now your source of entertainment?" Dracula hissed, his eyes smoldering with loathing for the monster lord before him.

Lucifer only continued to smile pleasantly as if he and the Count were only having afternoon tea. "You are my servant," he said. "And so you serve me. We made a deal."

Dracula glowered, using all of his self-control in an effort not to attack without mercy and proclaim that no one made a fool of him, and that he was no one's puppet. But yet again he stayed quiet.

"Now, you may of course take release for your carnal pleasures with women. I would never deny you that! But no female is to set eyes on your face in the light. I'm sure you are very well aware of the influence you have on women," Lucifer continued with a knowing smile. "I'm simply removing that indulgence from your ego. We both know that women have always been one of your more… _favored_ distractions. With no women fawning over your _appearance_, there will be no distractions and results will follow."

"But, my lord," Dracula beseeched, ignoring the direct insult. "Surely you cannot mean this? Women are not such a great distraction. They are toys, my playthings, nothing more."

"Be calm, Vladislaus," Lucifer soothed, unmoved by Dracula's outrage at being handicapped by him again. "It's all in good fun."

"I do not see the fun!" Dracula hissed. "I implore you to simply send me back as you did last time. This time I will not fail you!"

"No, you will not fail," Lucifer agreed and paused before adding, "And remember Vladislaus." He bent down to Dracula's eye level. "Remember that you are _my_ creation, and so you do as I say! I say that you return to do my bidding, but no woman is to see your face until I say otherwise! Should you disobey and a woman sees your face, even accidentally, you will be immediately returned to me to claim the reward that awaits all those that defy my wishes!"

Signaling that the conversation was over, the devil snapped his fingers and an old, yellowed parchment appeared in his hand. Centuries old elegant handwriting covered the entire paper, and at the bottom in a much larger print was Dracula's signature, _Count Vladislaus Draguila. _Beside his signature was his family crest. This was the contract that bound Dracula eternally to the devil. Every inch of the ancient writing had been written in blood – his blood. Against the pale piece of parchment, the crimson calligraphy was a disturbing sight. Even the noble and proud Dragon crest had been carved in the telltale ruby.

Dracula gazed upon that damned piece of paper, unsure of what to make of its sudden reappearance. That parchment was very powerful. It was that parchment that made him what he was. One word on that contract could change his fate. Abruptly breaking the Count out of his thoughts was Lucifer, waving his large hand over the parchment. Not a moment later, the scarlet letters began to tremble of their own accord, bubbling until they began to drip down the parchment. For one moment the entire contract was nothing more than blood raining down the page. In the next moment, words began to form again.

It appeared as if an invisible hand were present, each crimson letter appearing out of thin air. Once the possessed writing ceased, Dracula could see that every word was the same, save for a new paragraph at the bottom directly above his signature. Before he could observe it at a closer angle, he halted himself, hissing in the sudden pain. He clawed at the ground, ignorant of Lucifer's pleased grin. It felt as if his very insides were being carved out and reorganized with a blazing hot dagger. The supernatural DNA coding that made him a vampire was being rewritten by a few new sentences. Sentences. Sentences were much longer than one word. Sentences meant larger changes and larger changes meant intensified pain.

For what seemed like an eternity, the Count writhed helplessly upon the ground as each new word took effect. When the process was at last finished, Dracula forced himself to his feet, shooting cold knives at the devil. The Count snarled, his body aching to morph into the beast he had within, the beast that would make all before him cower and beg for mercy. He made a move to attack Lucifer for this unnecessary alteration.

"Be still, Vladislaus," Lucifer ordered coolly. He saw no danger. Dracula halted, unable to move another step despite his intense struggle to. Lucifer took a step so he stood inches from Dracula's nose. "I apologize if my means of giving you my gifts pained you, Vladislaus, but it is simply how I work." With that, the devil chuckled.

Dracula's jaw-line was set hard, his fists trembles at his sides, and his undead blood boiled with anger. But he once again forced himself to remain silent. He must remain silent if he ever wanted to be free. One wrong word and he'd be thrown to the Harpies.

Lucifer now smiled a cheerful, almost kind smile, like Dracula was his best friend, his brother. "Don't be angry with me, Vladislaus. You'll hurt my feelings."

Dracula fought to inhale a snort. _Feelings?_ That was a laugh. The devil didn't have feelings, which was why he had locked away his.

"After all, I've stretched my powers for you countless times. And now I do it again." Helping Dracula to his feet, he gave the Count a friendly slap on the back, meant to give his servant yet another illusion of friendship. "I am your only friend and ally, Vladislaus. What I do is for your benefit," the Master of Lies crooned. When Dracula still forced himself to remain silent, the devil continued. "Now, for your orders. I want you to travel to every country in Europe and create new vampires for me."

"_Every_ country?"

"Yes," Lucifer replied. "Every country. After a while all of Europe will have its own army of vampires, will it not? No demon hunter stands a chance against that! It is a large task, I know. But you will live forever, Count. Why does it matter how you spend your time?

"Your sunrise curfew has been reinstated. How long that lasts is up to you. If you obey without a hitch, then I will remove your newest set of chains in a decade or so. But to help compensate for them, your other powers have been strengthened. You'll have great fun with that whilst hidden among the shadows."

Dracula slowly nodded, his eyes finding the ground to be very interesting at the present time.

"Oh and while you're on earth, if you do happen to run into the Left Hand of God - " Lucifer spat the last part like it was a curse word. " - Be sure to not let him defeat you _again_. Understood?"

"Yes."

Sensing that Dracula's temper hadn't cooled at all thanks to Lucifer's constant baiting, but he wasn't going to risk arguing with his master, Lucifer tossed aside his façade of friendship and barked his final order. "Now get to work!"

One moment, Dracula was face to face with Lucifer, the next he was looking directly into something icy blue and cold. His coffin. With a screech he leapt up, shattering ice and sending his bats into a frenzy. He landed perfectly on his feet, save for the usual stray hairs that always managed to escape his hairclip. He was back. There would be no distractions this time, not in any way, shape, or form. Ice crackling beneath his boots as he walked and hands clasped behind his back, Dracula immediately began making plans for his expedition.

Beware, mortals of Europe, beware.

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Well, I certainly wouldn't want to be in Europe at the moment. ha. So, how was it? Shall I hurry up and update? Or hide under a fire-proof bed from flamers? Any and all concrit is most welcome.


	2. Shadows

**AN:** Yikes, it's been a while since I updated. My apologies! But the beginning was giving me multiple issues. I would like to give a big round of applause for my BFF, **AutobotStarlight** who helped me see reason after I rewrote this chapter about five times. If any of you are Transformers fans, check her stuff out! They'll make you smile. Anyway, I hope this chapter makes up for the long wait. After this one, I can jump right into the plot. Cross my heart, hope for Dracula to bite me. ha.

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**Chapter 1: Shadows**

_Dublin, Ireland 1895_

A shadow sprinted until her feet nearly flew down the street, churning a dust storm each time her heels left the ground. Running alongside the Liffey River gave her the advantage of perceiving the silhouette of the sun; therefore she was very much aware of its position.

It was nearly down.

The girl forced herself to run faster, clutching the skirt of her dress tight within her sweaty palms. Perhaps if she timed it right she could make it home just before supper, giving her barely a minute to beg her sister, Meredith, to cover for her. Once her house was in sight, she ducked below the windows and silently made her way up the front steps. She paused briefly to catch her breath. She must make it appear as if she had not just been running as fast as she could in order to avoid her mother's wrath. Tardiness was never tolerated.

She slowly opened the door, stopped it right before it was prone to creak, and slipped in. She had made it. The squeaky door had not betrayed her and no one seemed to be in sight. Now all she had to do was locate Meredith and convince her to say that she had been napping all afternoon; to say she had been home for hours. That should be simple enough. Meredith hated any sort of trouble and had little of a mind of her own. But she loved her sister dearly anyway. Now that that was settled, Maeve felt that her plan was perfect. For once, she would avoid a clash with her mother.

"You are late, Maeve."

She froze. Her plan was now in ashes. _Prepare yourself__,_Maeve thought with a sigh. The smell of her defeat loomed near.

Maeve quietly shut the front door and turned to face the terse voice. "Sorry. I needed to stay late to help explain an assignment to Nory Mallon. She missed all the lessons last week, and I needed to help her catch – "

"I do not want to hear your excuses, Maeve," Catherine snapped. Forcing herself to remain passive, Maeve held her head high to meet her mother's irate eyes, challenging her in the most polite way she could. Well, polite given who was now furious with her.

"I was not trying to excuse my actions, Mama. I was explaining why –"

"Why you missed supper? Why you are just now at home? The sun is setting, Maeve! Night is minutes away! Do you realize how I worried for you?"

"I – I am sorry." Maeve lowered her head, now ashamed. I did not think…"

"Precisely! You did not think! You put your own impulsive needs above your family! Your rash way of thinking is selfish, irresponsible, and not proper for a young woman! You are not a child anymore. You are a young, _single_ woman! Such lax behavior will not be tolerated! Do you understand?"

The daughter of the livid mother sucked in her breath and exhaled before allowing herself to answer. To verbally challenge her mother in anger would do her no good. It never did. She had to make an attempt to appease her instead. "Yes, I understand that I was late. I… didn't mean to cause any trouble for you, Mama. But teaching helps pay for the food on our table, doesn't it? I'm not irresponsible because my reasons for coming home late were responsible reasons. I was out working. I was not taking a stroll for entertainment."

"Yes," her mother agreed before delivering her counter-attack. "But you know how I feel about you having a job at all, Maeve. If it were not for need of money, you would not be involved in such unladylike behavior! A woman's place is at home, tending to the household and her family! Not out pretending to be a man!"

Catherine took a moment to compose herself. "On the topic of money, your father received a letter today from your brothers. Their work in the countryside for the English is paying off. It will not be long before we will have no need for you to have a job anymore. The English have drained our country dry with their greed in the past – " She paused for a moment, considering her next words. " – But they at least reward loyal service. Financially, we will be strong for a while. I can resume teaching you the ways of a proper woman, Maeve, since you obviously need to relearn my lessons."

Maeve's eyes widened as the meaning of those words sunk in. To be chained here in the house with her prim, bossy mother? She'd go mad in such a jail! "But - You can't!" she cried, daring to argue.

"Maeve, you know better than to quarrel with your mother," said her father, Edward, as he entered the room. He stood by his wife's side and glanced at his daughter, sensing her fury. "There is no need to prolong this discussion. You are confined to your room for the rest of the night."

She sighed at today's downfall. Declaring war against one parent was risky, but to challenge two was futile. "Yes, Papa."

Maeve fought to keep her scowl hidden as possible as she stormed to her room, ignoring Meredith's curious looks as she passed her. She was always either treated as a child or some sort of vagabond! She could do nothing right in this house! Either she was too childish and needed to grow up, or too bold and needed to learn her place! With her mother's strict rules of how to be a proper woman, Maeve sometimes thought she'd have more freedom in a nunnery – with a better outfit of course. "At least the nuns are more open-minded than Mama," she murmured as she reached her room.

Upon entering, she threw herself onto her bed and buried her head into her pillow, prepared to remain that way all night. However, those plans for self-pity were adjourned at the sound of someone knocking on her door.

"I come in peace, Maeve," Brian called softly to his granddaughter. "Might I come in?"

A smile strained to dominate her previous gloomy face as she flipped herself over and sat up. "Of course, Granda."

For years Brian's hip had pained him after years of hard work, even now as he limped into the room. Nevertheless he smiled at his granddaughter. His slow and unsteady gate made scuffling sounds across her wooden floor and his old wooden cane clopped along with him like a solitary horse hoof. Once he reached her bed, he seated himself, one hand still clutching his cane, and the other reaching into his coat pocket. "Here, little queen," he said, holding out a biscuit. "I had a feeling you would miss supper."

Maeve smiled and took a bite. "Thank you, Granda. I would be lost without you."

"Oh, you would be fine without me," he replied. "A young girl full of youth and beauty has no use for a sour old man like me with fields of wrinkles to spare."

Maeve laughed after she took a bite of the biscuit. It had hardened, but still edible. "Nay, Granda. I could never survive in this house without you. Neither could my stomach when it is forced to unexpectedly fast." They both chuckled at that. After another quiet moment passed, Maeve parted her lips to speak again. "Granda, can I ask you something?"

The old man nodded his consent. Maeve paused with uncertainty for a moment before leaping into her question. "Granda, am I a silly little girl for wanting to prove that a woman is equal to a man? Mama says that since I have no suitors asking for my hand, I am a burden. Yet I do my part! I teach young children to help put our food on the table. And I like being useful that way instead of simply being married off. Am I foolish to want a purpose outside of home so badly?"

"No, Maeve," Granda assured her. "God created Man and Woman to be equal partners. The world, I am afraid, has fallen into a black void of prejudice and a greed for power. What we men fail to always remember is that we cannot be great without a good woman behind us. Adam needed God to create Eve to complete him, did he not?

"Unfortunately, sometimes even women forget that a life made up only of servitude to her husband is not the life planned by Him." Brian paused thoughtfully for a moment before continuing. "Your mother is an example of a woman who is bound in mind, not body."

Maeve rolled her eyes this time. "I have no idea how she can possibly be my mother sometimes," she admitted with an annoyed sigh. "Let alone be your daughter. I do not understand her at all."

Granda smiled ruefully. "Oh, do not be so hard on her. She had a much rougher life than you growing up. She is the only girl among her brothers. Think of how she grew up! But she means well. Perhaps if you were to spend a day with her you might understand her better, and she might understand you. I am sure she has much she wants to share with you, but has never found an incentive to do so. The both of you quarrel worse than a pair of alley cats squabbling over territory!"

Maeve cocked a brow. "With all due respect, Granda, but knowing my mother I rather doubt she could teach me anything worthwhile," she scoffed.

Brian smiled again, reflecting on his granddaughter's fiery yet innocent heart. "Always keep an open mind with everyone, Maeve," he replied softly. "Promise me that."

Maeve nodded. "I promise. Though it's rather hard when around someone like Mama."

"But you must always try to be understanding and unprejudiced with everyone, Maeve." He looked thoughtful now, his mind wandering to some far off land whilst his body was still bound to Celtic soil. "Now," he finally said, wishing to lighten the mood. "Would you like to hear a story?"

"Of course, Granda," Maeve said with a new smile. "I would love to hear one of your stories." She was a young woman now, but she would always be happy to listen to old tales of her country's folklore just as she had when she was but a small child. She would gladly read stories from books from the library her father worked at if she could. But books were expensive, and her mother disapproved of a woman spending her time within the imaginary world of a book. Despite that, her grandfather had taught her to read when she was very small, even managing to somehow sneak her a book sometimes. Her grandfather had always been the one to indulge her in literature, as scarce as it was for her to come by. And his storytelling always painted masterpieces far greater than those of Michelangelo for her.

"Now let's see," Brian began thoughtfully. "I will tell you the story of Finn MacCool, one of our country's greatest warrior heroes."

Maeve smiled as she listened to Granda begin the tale. She had heard it before, but was content to hear it again. She sat hugging her knees close to her body, allowing them to vanish under her skirts as she listened to her grandfather. Her body was familiar with this seating arrangement, as it was a position she frequently had been found in as a child when hearing his stories for the first time.

Sometimes Maeve wished she could have remained a young child instead of becoming the twenty-year old woman she was. Things were so much simpler when she had been younger. Her mother had not fussed over her to find a husband, for one. She knew she was past the proper courting age, but the idea of dealing with men her age, having to try and actually _relate_ to them made her ill. She had nothing in common with the opposite sex. She would gaze upon a man's face and become flustered, seeing an alien creature she knew not how to deal with. She would only humiliate herself if she were to try to connect with a man her age. Maeve found it much easier to talk with her grandfather, a man who would never mock her for her insights, no matter what they were. He would steer her in the right direction when she sought guidance. He was her confidant, her closest friend.

It was all too easy to forget that her grandfather was very, very old, especially when he told his stories with such vigor. But one day, no doubt sooner rather than later, his story would be told. She loathed thinking of that day, but she knew in the farthest, most dark corner of her mind that it would happen. Even now as he sat calmly on her bed, his trembling hands were folds of weathered skin and his veins were gleaming rivers snaking down his arms like the web of a spider. Once Granda left her, there would be no more comforting hugs, no more card games that her mother disapproved of, no more stories, and no warmth at all. Her home would become an eternal winter under her the jurisdiction of her mother, a citadel of frost for the ice queen.

Maeve shook her head. Now was not the time for unpleasant thoughts. She had had enough stress for one day. Her grandfather was telling her a story, and his stories were important to her. They were the climax of her day, filling her heart with a warm light. For now, she would listen. It was ironic that this favorable activity for Maeve occurred at night, when the light of the world was nowhere to be found.

"…Finn MacCool had a tragic childhood. His father had been slaughtered in battle and to protect him, his mother took him into hiding far away. She raised him with two skilled warrior women. These two women taught him the secrets of being a true warrior. As he progressed from a child to a man, he grew skilled from their teachings. Following the years of his training, Finn became a great and robust warrior. Once he was grown, he traveled the world to gain the wisdom he would need to lead his tribe of fellow warriors, the Fianna. His enemies were vast and his people would need a leader with strength of body and of mind.

"Along his travels, his mentor, Finegas, gave him the Salmon of Knowledge to eat. The Salmon gave the power to see the past and the future. With its bounty of acumen, Finn soon went on to become the mightiest and wisest leader the Fianna ever had. He was an unstoppable warrior and a clever tactician. But no warrior could fight battles forever. Once he grew old, our legend says that he did not die, but fell into an enchanted sleep deep within a cave.

"It is believed that he will rise again one day and continue to defend his people from his enemies..."

--

The dark silhouette of a man slunk across the ground whilst he inspected the manor before him. The cloak that covered him was as dark as his shadow, but it did not shield the strength and power the man held. Woe to the one unfortunate enough to cross his path. The man finally gave a satisfied nod to himself once his examination was complete. He then turned his attention to waiting for his servant's arrival. He did not have to wait long. No one with any speck of intelligence ever kept _him_ waiting.

"Antonio," Dracula called, addressing his servant. "Report on the premises." His tone was sharp and without emotion.

"Good evening, master," the vampire called Antonio replied cheekily, coming into view with a jolly grin. "This manor belonged to an English lord. He was in charge of the surrounding fields and the farmers that cultivate them. Now however, it is yours. It will suit your purpose here perfectly while we are here. We are surrounded by countryside. The closest city, Dublin, is nearly twenty miles from here."

"Good, good. And, where is this mortal English lord now?" Dracula inquired.

"We…found a new purpose for him to serve, master," Antonio answered calmly. Then much louder he added, "Though might I say, master, that he was not very tasty. He drank far too much, and it was not even the good kind!"

Dracula chuckled at the Spanish vampire. Antonio had always been far more particular than even himself when it came to the exquisite taste of mortal blood. "Such are the ways of mortal men," he replied. "Now, will you show me my new estate?"

"Of course, master," Antonio replied obediently. Leading the count in, he showed him the manor's many quirks that made it the perfect vampire haven: thick curtains draped every window, the underground winery cellar would serve Dracula well with a few adjustments, and the nearest church was in Dublin. The manor even had a small library that Dracula found to possess a volume or two that might prove to interest him. The manor was dark and isolated. The surrounding land housing the few local mortals had been known to leave the manor alone, not wishing to tangle with its previous owner. Their vampire neighbors would not be disturbed during their stay by mortal interference. And so Dracula silently congratulated his servant for finding this place for him. This place would shield him from pests, both holy and heroic.

And it was all his.

"I take it the others are all out making themselves at home?"

The others: strictly male vampires that Dracula had either converted or chosen to join him on his quest throughout Europe. The count had dubbed his servants as members of the Brotherhood, a sort of tribute to the brotherhood he had once been a valiant fighter for. These vampires were the closest creatures that could be named as the count's friends. On their travels covering European ground, the Brotherhood left a few fledglings behind in each country to convert more vampires from the inside out as an unstoppable virus. The country would be swarming with Nosferatu before anyone, including the Vatican could stop the epidemic.

The plan was completely flawless.

How could it not be? It was years in the making. Satan himself had set down the plan. Italy had been avoided altogether. All vampires had been commanded to keep a low profile until Dracula gave the order. When he did, all vampires in Europe would attack their mortal countrymen in unison. Once that happened, it would no doubt be a very _messy_ day for European history.

"Yes, master. In a manner, I suppose."

Dracula cocked a brow that plainly stated his curiosity. "In what manner, exactly?"

Now Antonio grinned sheepishly. "Forgive me master, but the others are out searching for women. None of us has had time to actually indulge in women since before London."

"And why are you not with them now, Antonio?" Dracula inquired with a deepened brow. "Are Irish women not to your liking? Or perhaps, you prefer pretty boys instead?" Now the count spoke with a dangerous, cynical voice.

"Antonio shook his head. "No master. It is only the pretty chicas for me! Do I like bonito boys – pah! Do not joke at such a thing, master. It upsets my appetite! I am here because I serve you. My loyalty to you comes before everything else, even my feeding time."

Sapphire eyes gleamed with amusement to match the curled lips, yet the eyes also hinted at envy. The luxury the count's fellows had with women that he did not was infuriating to say the least after a while. It was astounding that the disability of having a woman truly look at him could actually irritate him. He had never realized how much he actually enjoyed having a fawning woman in his presence to serve as entertainment. He wanted the hindrance to end. Count Dracula had grown very weary of playing by the useless rules Lucifer had invented for amusement purposes only. However, at the mention of the London incident, he frowned.

"You know why our time spent in London was so eventful, Antonio," he said coldly.

"Yes, master," Antonio quickly agreed. "Though no one liked dealing with that vampire, master, with all due respect."

"Of course no one did," Dracula replied impatiently. "That disgrace of a vampire had been risking exposure to us. Had we not intervened, nearly all the whores in London would be murdered by now. Can you imagine what a loss _that_ would be?" he asked with a thin smirk. "But that is why you must be careful who is made into a vampire. That doctor did not have a strong enough mind to live our life. His bloodlust surpassed any rational thought he might have had, driving him into a world where his perverse desires ruled. There had been no trace of any humanity left in him when I destroyed him," Dracula continued in a hard tone.

"His sole reason for rising once the moon rose was to use the tools he once used as a mortal doctor and cut up the whores of London. Why he chose whores I have no idea. But it is disgraceful that I had to step in at all. You would think more of our kind would be cautious about exposure by the Vatican too soon," Dracula said, his voice now lowering into an angry hiss. "By the time I removed the head of the surgeon, those cowardly mortals had thought him a human serial killer, and had even given him a name. Not a very imaginative one, I should say, but the newspapers had dubbed him _something, _which made it all the more dangerous for our kind. It would have been disastrous had mortals stumbled upon the truth."

"But you took care of it, master," Antonio said with a tone that could not be mistaken for relief. "Now we are in Ireland, one of the last countries that need a massive vampire infestation. Soon, your task will be finished!"

_And my debt will be paid,_ Dracula thought. His shackles were loose compared to the horror they could be, but they were still chains. And any sort of restriction for Dracula was unacceptable. "This time, I have been far more inconspicuous about my dealings. By the time the Vatican sends out their precious knight, I will have already made the checkmate!"

Dracula relaxed from his twisted expression of fury. He smirked, more to himself then to Antonio and whispered, "But that victory has yet to be won. It lingers on the horizon, but there is still much work to do."

He faced Antonio. "Remain here until the rest return. I want the entire manor outfitted to accommodate several vampires before I return at sunrise, understood?"

"Yes, master."

"Excellent." As for him, he would commence Ireland's nightmare, beginning with the largest city: Dublin.

* * *

**AN:** Chicas is Spanish for girls, and bonito is Spanish for pretty.

Questions:

1. Did anyone notice parallels between Dracula and the story of Finn MacCool? (which is a real Irish legend, by the way.)

2. Did anyone catch my reference to Jack the Ripper? Yes, I made the infamous Ripper a vampire! He was certainly bloody enough. Not at all a pleasant chap. (or chap(s). The authorities _still_ haven't figured that out yet.) And apparently Jack the Ripper and Dracula had a showdown! Dun dun dun! Two blood-loving sadists. Good thing Mr. Impaler and Jacky never met historically. What a partnership that would have been! The world would have ended...

3. Shout out anything. All concrit and comments are welcome.


	3. An Unexpected Disturbance

**Chapter 2: An Unexpected Disturbance**

Long hours had passed since Maeve's grandfather had told her the tale of Finn MacCool. It had always been one of her favorites, yet she was still restless. In a spontaneous decision, she had climbed out her window and into the world of the witching hour. She hoped that taking a walk would appease her. Besides, she had never been outside at night without an escort before. She could not resist her own curiosity. What lies in the dark? Why did so many fear it? Nothing truly horrible could be present during a time when the binding horizon never came. The sky reflected the world at night. It was dark, but light could still shine through. Each bright star shone like a diamond for a specific person on earth, or so Maeve believed. The airborne jewels were many in number, but Maeve's favorite beauty of the night was the full moon.

It outshone every star and cast an eerie, yet beautiful sheen on the land. Now the moon was the grin of a smug feline, but it would not be long before the moon had its moment of triumph and was the true gem of the night sky. For now, the stars could quarrel over who was the brightest. But the stars that winked at her also taunted her. _"You are always trapped in the house!"_ they cackled. _"We are up here in the endless sky, bound by no one's rules! We can shine our brightest! You cannot! You sit at home in bondage to your parents like a silly, little girl!"_

It was true. As zealous as her heart was, she had never faced a true tragedy in her life. Her heart had never been broken. The English paid little mind to Dublin, only interested in the farmland of the country. Her biggest mêlée of each day was suffering through a pair of practical, domineering parents. She had grown up quite sheltered, to put it bluntly. And so it was with a rare feeling of devious excitement that Maeve made her way down the wall of her home and onto the ground for a few moments of freedom.

She was near the ground when her skirt caught one of the branches on the surrounding shrubbery. Maeve tugged on her skirt with one hand. Nothing happened. She tried again harder, and the shrub still held her skirt captive. Now Maeve bit her tongue to save herself from having to attend Confession after Mass this Sunday. Her mother would love that, especially once she explained why. "You know," she muttered under her breath. "Sneaking out of your home at night has always been portrayed more romantic in books." Now gritting her teeth, she tugged harder and harder until finally, she freed herself from the branch's hold.

Unfortunately, that meant nothing was holding her to the wall.

Maeve learned a hard lesson: Gravity is not your friend.

"Oh!" Maeve gasped, wincing at the minimal pain. It was not a far drop from her window to the ground, but to fall on your back from the distance would most definitely be a cause of physical discomfort. She could already feel the bruises forming like a row of chain links down her back. Fine, she thought crossly. Meredith wins the bet. I would not be a good scout against the English if Ireland needed it… I don't think I need to tell her that though.

Maeve remained silent for a moment, to be certain that she had not disturbed anyone's rest. She heard nothing but the crickets playing their violins. Standing up, Maeve dusted herself off and surveyed her damage. There was a rip in her skirt from captivity. She would have to sew it up before her family saw it. After further investigation, Maeve felt something warm trickling down her thigh. Analyzing it, she found that she had managed to cut herself, too. The branch had been sharp enough to saw through her skirt and into her flesh. "Oh that's just wonderful," she murmured_. _Cursing the evils of pointy vegetation, she mopped her cut up with her skirt.

Despite this rather humiliating setback, Maeve still had a mind to take a quick walk. Just a quick walk down the river and back, then she would return to bed. Hopefully then her head would be willing to succumb to her pillow. Rubbing her arms for warmth, she turned her direction to the Liffey River and started walking. Ireland was beautiful at night, she mused. The land truly transformed into another world once the sun yielded for the night. The world of the _sídhe_ changed everything, making it more exquisite.

Unfortunately, Maeve was too far away to hear a swift, dangerous figure cut through the night like lightening, knocking another restless sleeper to the ground.

Farther down the Liffey, Maeve had made her decision to turn around and return home. At last she felt drowsy and was ready to retire. Besides, she was nearing Felim's house and he lived with his family over a mile from her home. At that thought, Maeve smiled. Felim McHenry, the son of a fisherman, had been her friend since childhood. A once skinny youth that had loved to race her had had his adolescent metamorphosis into a very handsome young man. However his constant mischievous glint remained carved in his eyes. Felim was a strong man from hauling fishnets, a hard worker, and had a heart of gold.

It would be very difficult to find a man as kind or cheerful as Felim McHenry. If Maeve's memory served correctly, she could count the times she had ever witnessed Felim's anger on one hand. When Maeve had first realized that Felim was a boy and she was a girl, she had secretly hoped that he would seek to court her. Her mother's hope for that event had not been so secret. Yet he had never called on Maeve once for romantic reasons.

That was long in the past now. Felim was her brother, her friend. In any case, she had always loved him, but had never been in love with him. Though just because they were friends did not mean she did not take advantage of hot summer days when anyone with a speck of intelligence spent the heat waves in the river. She, like her fellow females, had every right to appreciate fine male flesh. The men certainly appreciated looking at the women enough. But unlike the men, the young women would blush and look away demurely before their gazes were caught. Men had not yet mastered the art of being inconspicuous.

With the McHenry house in sight, Maeve noticed something peculiar: there was a potent mist covering the river and the shoreline. But this mist was far darker and consuming than any she had ever seen before. It was smoke. And the thick cloud seemed violent and pulsating. One should be careful not to fall into this vapor inferno, or you might be lost in it forever. What piqued the girl's curiosity more was that the mist was only this thick on this side of the river. The other side was completely normal. Maeve decided to take a closer look when a disturbing sight met her bewildered eyes.

Felim was lying on his back on the ground.

There was a dark shadow crouched over him.

The masculine-like shadow appeared to have his mouth on Felim's neck. Maeve's eyes grew large with confusion. No_,_ she thought with a shake of her head. There is not a mouth on Felim. He may not court often, but Felim does not take an interest in _men_.

Was it some sort of wild animal? But there was nothing this large around Dublin… And the shape appeared to be human. Snapping out of her shock, Maeve dared a step closer. Now she could see that Felim's face was stark white, his eyes were bulging, threatening to burst free from his skull, and his lips were frozen in a silent scream of terror. Maeve could not move now the cold realization crashed upon her.

This shadow, this creature, was _killing_ Felim.

_No! _This was not happening. This could not be happening. Not to Felim. Whatever this ominous beast was, it was most certainly not human. It came from the Other World. It came from a dark realm from the Other World. Felim could never hurt anyone. He had never hurt anyone. So why was the _sídhe_ hurting him?

"Stop!" her voice cracked, not sounding nearly as effective as it had in her head. "He has done nothing to you!"

The dark figure froze immediately and in one languid movement, the _sídhe_ was looking directly at her. Maeve's throat constricted. She could not back down now. "Why?" she whispered. "Why do you hurt him so?" The _sídhe's_ body was only an endless shadow. She could see nothing of its face, its legs, nothing. But she could see a pair of rampant azure eyes piercing through her. The furious blue eyes seemed to have lightening striking within the storm to further state its rage. The _sídhe_ glared through her, entering her entire soul to make her quiver from the inside of her heart. It moved its eyes from her face and journeyed down her body like claws securing its prey. But its expression changed for a brief second once it found her waist. Maeve could have sworn it appeared hungry. It seemed to eye her body as if her skirt was not there to hide her bloody wound.

Blood. Her blood had seeped into her skirt after she had fallen. Judging by the condition Felim was in, this creature enjoyed blood. Realizing this, she felt the air grow colder, the chill snaking down her spine in an icy embrace. The mortal girl felt suffocated by this display of power, by this particular lust from the Other World. My God, she thought. I have disturbed a powerful dark _sídhe_. I am going to die. Felim is going to die if he has not died already. Oh Lord, please have mercy on us both! I did not know this would happen!

In that precise moment, Maeve felt her fear in its entirety surface. Her heart received the message and began to pound violently, aching to be free of her ribcage. Her lungs could not give her enough oxygen. It was as if those wild sapphire orbs spoke to a part of her buried deep within her – and that part of her was screaming "danger" at her. An instinct older than civilization was begging her to run, to flee far from this shadow, to leave Ireland far behind her as long as this beast roamed the shadows.

But she couldn't move. The force that pleaded with her to escape also held her feet captive on the spot.

The creature, finished with its visual investigation of Maeve, scowled at her once more and then was gone, taking Felim with it. The air returned to its natural temperature and Maeve was knocked from her daze. The smoke above the river cleared. Everything looked ordinary again, except that Felim was gone. But they could not have just vanished! Or could they? Maeve looked around in a rush, afraid that the _sídhe_ might now be watching her, waiting to leap upon her to end her life for her interference. "Felim?" she whispered to the darkness. "Felim, are you still here?"

No answer. Her cries were in vain. Felim was really gone. Maeve swallowed and hugged herself to ward off her internal shaking. He's gone, she thought mournfully. My friend is gone. There is nothing more I can do. One thing to do: she needed to get away from this place. After a final glance told her that the creature had gone for good, Maeve awoke her sleeping muscles and broke into run for home.

--

The creature appeared in his newest lair, a tornado of ire and panic throbbing between his temples. Had he a heartbeat, it would have been at an accelerating speed. A girl had almost seen him. A girl had nearly destroyed all of his hard work. A girl had nearly sent him back into the open arms of eternal punishment.

No, he thought angrily. I will not go back! I refuse! He would deny it on pain of hell, but after realizing that the intruder was female, he had felt a flicker of fear. A mortal girl had arisen his dread. The devil's warning had screamed in his ears, Lucifer's cold laughter had clattered fiercely like the executioner's axe. Count Dracula was certain of one thing: _he would never go back._

"I will not be punished for another's deed," he hissed to himself. "And that girl will pay." That girl, he mused. More like a young woman actually, now that he thought about it. Had he not been so alarmed he would have sensed his usual symptoms of desire. Except now he was furious, and that was what mattered for the moment. She had surprised him: a feat rarely accomplished by anyone, ever. And that sin of hers would be her death. She owed him pension for what she had almost done to him. And all the debts he collected were paid in blood.

On the topic of blood…

Dracula looked down at the Irish youth slumped on the floor of his manor. He needed to quarantine him until his conversion was complete. "Antonio!" Dracula barked. Immediately the servant answered the call of his master.

"Master!" he exclaimed. "I did not expect you back until dawn. I have not finished refurbishing the manor with your belongings – "

"Never mind that!" the count snapped. He indicated the body on the floor. "I just finished turning him," he began. "He will begin to change soon. Barricade him in the cellar."

"Yes, master," Antonio answered. He lifted the new recruit up with ease and slung him over his shoulder. He made to leave for the cellar, but lingered to risk a question for his master. "Master? Are you well? You do not look yourself. You do not look like you did at sunset." His master was outraged at something, though he hid the emotion with expertise. But Antonio had known his master for years, long before he had even entered his master's service.

Dracula caught Antonio's concerned gaze. Faithful Antonio. The Spanish vampire was a prized servant yet not a brainless oaf. That was why he tolerated it when Antonio occasionally crossed the line. "Nothing is wrong, Antonio. Do as I commanded."

A compliant nod followed by, "yes, master" and Dracula was left alone. Recounting the events by the river, he smirked. Oh yes, that pretty woman would pay dearly for the injury she had done him. He could picture that soft neck now, how slim it was, how fragile. How easy it would be to break that neck, to scar and mar it, to make it bleed in pretty designs for him to behold. Her green eyes would widen again, like they had tonight when she had seen him. Her heart would throb for all it was worth again because of him. She thought she had been frightened tonight? Oh, she did not know the true meaning of fear! But those lovely eyes of hers would look stunning as she trembled before him. Those absinthe-colored eyes that begged to be gazed into and lost forever… Oh yes. Lost forever, indeed. At least, _she_ would be lost forever among the many corpses that followed in his footsteps once he had had his pleasure.

Now Count Dracula felt more like himself. Imagining that sweet little fairy's delightfully prolonged demise did him wonders. Fairies were pets that lived as long as their honeybee companions. Fairies were delicate creatures that were favorite toys of his to break. Fragile things in Dracula's life would thrive beautifully in his beckoning hands and be destroyed in the next moment once the fancy took him. Which was why once he strode about his new manor to oversee his servants his lips harbored the ghost of a triumphant smirk.

Fairies belonged with their flowers, not playing with an untamable fire.

* * *

**AN:** I owe a big thank you to all those who have reviewed thus far. And a special thanks goes to SpeedDemon, because your review last time cracked me up big time. XD And then I had this whole Vlad vs. Jack convo in my head afterwards.

This chapter was on the short side, and for that, I apologize. But I needed to split up the events for this chapter and the next. It will hopefully make sense later. Maeve's friend Felim's name is Irish for "always good." We shall see how that little fact plays out in the story. The next chapter will be up soon.

Thanks for reading! All comments, concrit, shout outs, etc are most velcome.


	4. Authority

**Chapter 3: Authority**

"So the infamous Count Dracula has come to Ireland at last."

It was more of an accusation than a statement of a fact. This younger vampire was either very brave or incredibly stupid.

"Yes," the count answered. His thin lips curled at the Irish vampire's scrutinizing expression. Anyone that made the mistake of thinking that that grin of Dracula's was a true smile was doomed from the beginning.

"And you plan to create numerous fledglings here?" the vampire called Conn questioned.

"That is what Lucifer commanded," Dracula replied with annoyance. Must this vampire continue to question him? It would save so much time and effort if he would just agree to stay out of his way instead of complaining – which was what this Irish Nosferatu was doing. He only hid his whining behind useless trivia.

"And I can be assured that the Vatican will not invade and destroy my covens?"

"The Vatican has not investigated the countries I have already infected," Dracula replied smoothly. "And furthermore, Conn - " Dracula leaned forward in his chair and across the sleek table, pressing his fingertips together in an arched union. "_All_ the covens belong to me. Everything is _mine. _This includes your servitude and your loyalty. You would do well to remember that."

Conn briefly lowered his eyes in submission. "Yes, I will in the future. Forgive me."

Dracula's brow creased.

"Forgive me, _milord_," Conn hastily added.

The count relaxed and leaned back in his seat, satisfied. The pup that would be king now knew his place. He had seen this scenario all too often: a vampire lord that behaved as if he were the son of the devil, strutting about as if he had sole power of the entire undead race. Yet as always once he, Count Dracula, privileged them with an audience they were immediately cowed.

This relationship both suited and irritated him. Opposition was never tolerated and those petty vampire lords never learned. They were cockroaches forever yearning to be a spider. "Good, now onto our previous conversation. As set down by Lucifer himself, I am to create fledglings in all of Europe. I have nearly succeeded save for a few countries in the far north. But every country will be subjected to my virus, Conn, including yours."

"Yes, Count."

Dracula chose to let Conn remain unscathed. He was receiving what he wanted. "Now, I understand that the balance of fledglings and vampires and their feeding grounds must be maintained. Secrecy has been a key factor for this entire operation."

"Yes, Count. My only concern with your task is that Ireland already houses many vampires, namely the English. The English control the mortal lords in the countryside. But their power grew so great that they poisoned the human's food – their precious potatoes. Our mortal population still has not fully recovered from that grave loss."

Dracula nodded as he listened. "Ah yes, _An Gorta Mór_. Word reached my ears during my travels. An unfortunate time for mortals."

"And vampires," Conn added. "With our food source reduction so high many vampires were forced to leave with the mortals traveling to America."

"The poor creatures," Dracula replied dryly, arms folded loosely against his chest.

Conn dared to narrow his eyes. "Yes. The immortal creatures of Ireland have had to struggle for territory – not like in the old days. It is not like it was centuries ago, Count, when superstition and the sword ruled the land. To create a number of new vampires here would make it much harder to keep the Vatican in the dark."

Dracula eyed Conn with disapproval. "You question my abilities?"

Conn shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "No, no of course not, Count. I was only reminding - "

"I think you _are_ questioning me, Conn," he continued calmly. "I think you are displeased that I have come to your country. I think you wish for me to leave as soon as possible."

"No! I – I am honored for you to be here, milord. My concern is that – "

"Is that the Vatican will discover my plans and ruin them?"

Conn said nothing, choosing to keep his eyes downcast and out of reach from the twin whirlpools of blue. He wished himself on the other side of the world to save him from the count's wrath. Conn had fallen into a trap – and he knew it.

"Is that what you believe, Conn? That I will fail and the Vatican will invade with their knights?"

The Irish vampire made no move to speak. If he could pray to God, Conn would beg Him to allow him to leave this room with his life and title still intact. Instead he was trapped in this room alone with Count Dracula. If only he had been allowed to have his men beside him for support. But the count had insisted they talk unaccompanied. Conn was alone and at the mercy of the Dragon.

"Answer me, Conn, or I will be forced to believe that you are not my ally, and thus my enemy. Do you know what I do to my enemies?"

He knew; Conn attempted to moisten his lips at the thought, shuddering. He needed to choose his words carefully. In less than half an hour he had already managed to rid himself of the count's favor. "Count, allow me to assure you that I have never doubted you or your prowess. I am nothing but completely loyal to you."

Dracula chuckled a cold, unfeeling laugh. "Such _lies_ you tell me, Conn, for one who insists upon his loyalty. I should think that honesty would be a trait of one who pledges allegiance to their master, unless of course the servant plans to stab his master in the back." The count impaled Conn with his unwavering gaze of ethereal azure like a hungry snake would to immobilize a mouse.

"Count," he bravely began. "I would never – "

"Of course you would never attempt to overthrow me, Conn," Dracula said dismissively. "You are far too cowardly to be so bold, aren't you? You would only defy me whilst I am not here, when you have your own men to protect you in your castle."

The count swept his gaze over the walls of the Ardgillan Castle. This is a charming castle in your tenure, is it not, Conn? Not nearly as grand as my own Castle Dracula, but befitting of one in high society."

He paused for a moment to relish in the look of horror scorched on Conn's face as he realized what he was up to.

"It is quite adequate indeed, far better than the manor I currently reside in. I wonder if during my stay in this country, I would be better off in your castle. What is your opinion?"

Conn struggled to form comprehensible words. _Remember, this is Count Dracula,_ he thought. _All I must do is say what he wants to hear – without lying._ "I – I believe that wherever you think you will be the most content is where you should stay, Count. After all, all this is yours."

Dracula smirked. Ah, so the weak could be trained after all. "You are fortunate tonight," he told him. "But I forewarn you this: I can drag you down just as easily as you were risen, understood? Should you cross me again, your title and name among the vampire covens would be demolished; your castle would be repossessed for me should you ever betray me in any manner! And I would not stop with your fortune. Traitors don't live long under my jurisdiction," he hissed. "And I am sure the surviving traitors would discover that they would not desire to live before I am through with them."

"I understand Count."

"Good. As for your precious castle, I do in fact think I can find some use for it. Though I will not evict you as I previously considered. Perhaps after our conversation you will show me around the estate? I hear you have a ghost. Is this rumor true?"

Conn relaxed, shaking off his previous rigid demeanor. "Y-yes, Count, Ardgillan Castle is the home of a ghost. A woman haunts the bridge down in the lower gardens. She is a sort of guard-ghost, if you will. And I would be honored to give you a tour."

Dracula's smirk burned strong. "Excellent. Now, moving onto my plans for other wealthy Irish estates – "

A sharp knock at the door interrupted the conversation.

"Enter," Dracula answered coolly. Conn remained silent at the vampire king's order in his own home.

The door swung open and in strode Antonio. "Master," he greeted with a bow of his head. "And Lord Zaylour," he added respectfully to the other vampire. "Forgive my interruption, but I have an urgent message for my master."

Dracula presented his servant with a curt nod. "Speak freely."

"Your spies, Master, have discovered alarming news from the Vatican. They have recently been taking an interest in the wealthier populace of Europe – specifically citizens they suspect to be vampires due to their wealth status and connections."

The count frowned, ignoring Lord Conn Zaylour entirely. Inquisitive blue froze into livid shards of ice. Leave it to the Holy Order to thrust their large, pious noses into his affairs this close to success! "Continue," he instructed Antonio, remaining composed.

"They do not have proof that they are your vampires, master. Though they keep a keen eye on those they suspect. Another issue your spies uncovered was that the Vatican sends their own spies to collect information about our movements from manor to castle. They have not found a precise trail, but they are curious enough."

Sensing his master's silent fury, Antonio added to assuage him, "So far the Holy Order sends only footmen to collect information. Nobodies."

"But," Dracula hissed. "If we are not careful it will not be long before they send in Gabriel."

Silence asphyxiated the room at the mention of the Order's knight. Though he was more like their personal assassin. But of course the Vatican would not see it that way. Not the precious, self-righteous capital of Christendom.

"I will not give Rome a reason to use their hunter. The Left Hand of God will _not_ thwart my plans yet again!" the vampire king growled, the warmth of the room diminishing completely. He turned his cold gaze to the unfortunate Conn, forcing the Irish Nosferatu to use all self-control to keep from looking away. "Do you know how many popes I have seen, Conn?"

Conn hesitated fearfully. Where was the count going with this? When Count Dracula asked you a question, you best beware of the lethal varnish. "I – I do not know."

Dracula turned to the Spaniard vampire. "Antonio?"

Antonio shook his head. "No, Master. But please do enlighten us."

Dracula's thin lips twitched into a grin at Antonio's words. "I have dealt with fifty-two popes and their councils, their warriors. Fifty-two. Out of those fifty-two, it is the present pope – Pope Leo XIII - that I loathe the most. Did you know gentlemen, that Pope Leo XIII is known as 'the Social Pope?'" the count sneered.

"He is far too social in my opinion. He gives me no peace!" Dracula snarled, his eyes dancing like blue flames licking molten rock.

"His sociality begets him to assault my door, seeking my demise like his long ago predecessor, Pope Pius II. But it is his holy soldiers that have become a far greater pest than even Pius II. I suppose_ His Holiness _thinks himself safe in his city whilst others do his work for him. Ha!" Dracula snorted. "Once my plan is completed, he will not be safe behind his holy walls. Walls did not protect Constantinople from destruction and walls will not protect Rome from her imminent ruin. Simple parapets cannot discourage me. They never have.

"Conn," Dracula addressed icily. "You are to send word to your countrymen that all vampires are to remain where they are. Under no circumstances are they to travel from their current roosts, am I clear?"

"Perfectly, Count."

"Very good. Now go. I will join you shortly."

Conn stood up and hastened from the room. He couldn't escape fast enough.

Dracula glanced at Antonio, noting his servant's still demeanor, waiting for his orders. "Is that all, Antonio?"

The Spaniard nodded. "Yes, master. That is all."

Dracula rose from his chair in one languid movement. "Before I end this conversation, how does the fledgling fare?"

"He is still plagued with the prolonged suffering that comes with the Change. It should not be much longer before he has completely turned. I will check on his status the moment I return to the manor."

Dracula nodded to his servant and made for the door to inspect Conn's progress. "You are excused, Antonio," he called over his shoulder.

With a respectful bow, Antonio was gone, leaving Dracula to his thoughts as he strode down the corridor. Once he found Conn, the younger Nosferatu had already managed to send a large party of his servants out to relate Dracula's message. The count could not help but smirk with cruel satisfaction at that. See what could be accomplished with a little motivation? Soon after that, Conn led the count on parade through the halls and gardens of the castle, etching stories of how the Fey had originally built the estate. This was Ireland, after all.

Passing over a bridge, Dracula noted the green intensity of the hedges. The sharp green that reminded him of a certain set of green eyes. Green eyes that were like absinthe; they sparkled and glittered to lure you in. The Green Fairy. _Yes,_ Dracula thought to himself. _She is the Green Fairy from the absinthe._

Now that he was calm, Dracula could not help but admit that the girl was pretty from the brief glimpse he had had of her. Not the most stunning female he had ever seen by far, but pretty in her own way. The more the pity for her that she was not a goddess of beauty to him. If she was, he may have considered sparing her life. Such a pity, indeed.

One thing bothered him however, and he could not evade the puzzlement for long: why had the girl been out at such an hour? Humans, let alone young women, did not entertain the land after dark. They feared it, as they should. But even his new fledgling had been by his open window, so why had the girl ventured from the safety of her home? Dracula furrowed his dark eyebrows together. _What was she doing? She is most certainly no hunter for Good, so what was she doing? _

Dracula frowned, annoyed by his own curiosity. It made no difference. He would find out all he desired about the girl. He would instruct her in the way of the world. _His_ way of the world when it came to those who displeased him. Once he did, he would dispose of her.

And that would be that.

--

"You are very quiet tonight, Maeve," Catherine observed.

Maeve prodded her food, eyes downcast. "If you think so, Mama," she replied flatly. Six days. Six days since she had taken that walk and seen Felim taken by the _sídhe. _And every day she walked to and from the schoolhouse she would see Felim's parents searching for him. It was all in vain. In her heart, Maeve knew the _sídhe_ would not release Felim. He was as a good as dead if not so already. Maeve kept her eyes on her food. She still had no idea of what she should do. Who would believe her if she told the story? _Perhaps Granda…_

_No,_ she firmly decided. _I cannot tell even Granda. That_ _sídhe_ _may come for me in revenge for what I saw. Creatures from the Other World have never let a mortal spy on them in their wonder and live to boast of it. And the sídhe I encountered is far more dangerous then an enraged Artemis sulking with wounded pride. _

Catherine studied her eldest daughter, attempting to decipher the dramatic change in her personality. All Maeve had done these past few days was stare into the sky and ruminate on an unknown subject when she was not at the schoolhouse teaching. "Has something happened at the schoolhouse? I've told you that that place was no place for a woman, but you never listen."

"Nothing is wrong at the schoolhouse, Mama."

Catherine looked thoughtful. "Have you at last taken my teachings to heart then?"

Maeve fought the impulse to either smile at her mother's eternal wish that she be more feminine, or snap that she would never be a docile twit. "I… think about your lessons, Mama. I consider them," she answered truthfully.

Meredith coughed to hide her giggle, nearly choking on her bite of potato with milk lashings, onion bits, and a knob of butter. The only thinking her older sister ever did over their mother's lessons on "the proper woman" was how incredibly stupid they were.

"Perhaps the lass frets over Felim McHenry's disappearance," Brian suggested, watching his granddaughter's eyes flash at the name with interest. "Maybe the lad fell into a fairy ring, or perhaps the wee folk have a plan for him. What do you think, little queen?" Sipping his ale, he waited for Maeve to respond or avoid the question.

"Celia says he ran away to be with a girl," Meredith put in with a dumb grin on her petite face. Her eyes shone at the idea of the scandal. "She thinks he might be in England by now, married and working as a clerk somewhere grand… like London!"

"Now that is a horrid thing to say! Gossip is not attractive. You would do well to stay away from Celia, Meredith," Catherine scolded. Meredith shrugged.

"It's what Celia said…"

"Celia is wrong!" Maeve snapped, glaring at the stupidity of her sister.

"How do you know?" Meredith challenged.

Maeve paused, and eyed her supper again. "I – I know Felim," she mumbled. "He is trustworthy and honorable. He would not just abandon his family, and certainly not to run away to an English city!"

"That is what they all say," Meredith replied self-importantly. "But it's the honorable ones that surprise you."

"Meredith!" her father reprimanded. "That is no way for a lady to talk."

"Yes, Papa. But it's true," Meredith muttered under breath.

"And it's the snooty, ghastly sisters that are repulsive and deserved to be squashed like a beetle!" Maeve countered angrily, standing up. "You are a silly twit that knows nothing! Stop acting like you're the Princess of Wales!"

"Maeve!" Catherine exclaimed. "To your room! Immediately! I will not tolerate this!"

Wordlessly, Maeve stood up and marched to her room. Meredith always behaved that way after conversing with that wretched Celia. Celia would sell her soul to hear a scandalous rumor. But Maeve would hear none of that about Felim, especially when she knew the truth. Shutting her window with a loud slam, Maeve slid her night shift over her head and retrieved her journal. She rarely used it, finding the desire to write fleeting as well as pointless in the past: nothing exciting happened here, until now. She wanted to hide from all this, this panic that had been unearthed from Felim's disappearance. Why would a good boy such as Felim leave? He would not, so people assumed some outside force was at play, but what? Not even Maeve knew, and what she did scared her senseless. She wanted to feel safe, but she was not.

_21 April 1895_

_I don't know what to do. What does God want me to do? What do I even want to do? So many questions, but I have no answers. I know not where to look for answers. There is a dark smoke hovering over Ireland. I can sense it, everyone can sense it, but what is it? Have the sídhe become restless? Are they angry with us for allowing the English to corrupt our land? Or is this God's doing? _

_God killed our potatoes years ago. Granda told me about it. He had been there and seen the potatoes turn black. God must have been trying to save us from the English by evicting them, even though it hurt us, too. We all must carry a Cross. Perhaps the Lord works even now with His Other Worldly creatures to free Ireland from the English shackle. But why take Felim? Why anything at all? Why threaten my people's safety again? That is all I want for myself and for Granda. Safe._

Safe from it all: the plague in her thoughts, her fears for Felim, and most of all, from the shadows lurking outside her window.

* * *

**AN:  
**How many popes Dracula has seen as a vampire is true. Yes I went and counted. Pope Leo XIII was the Catholic pope at this time period, as was Pope Pius II when Dracula was murdered by Van Helsing in 1462. Pope Leo was also actually known as "the Social Pope" and was said to have a sense of humor. I don't think Dracula agrees, however. lol.

_An Gorta Mor_ means "The Great Hunger" and that was the time in Ireland from 1845-1852 when the potatoes of the Irish countryside turned black while under English rule, killing thousands of Irishmen, and thousands more fled to America to survive.

The Ardgillan Castle in Dublin is a real place, and legend does tell that it housed the ghost of a woman under a bridge in the garden. The vampire Conn's name means "chief" in Gaelic, since Conn is the chief of the Irish vampire covens. My reference to the Greek goddess Artemis of the Hunt was to the myth where she was bathing and a hunter found her there, and like an idiot, stayed and gawked. Typical, stupid, perverted man. Artemis was furious and so she turned him into a stag. Then he was brought down by his own hounds. Lovely, no? lol.

Send a shout out! Concrit, comments, etc.


	5. Ill Met By Moonlight

**Chapter 4: Ill Met By Moonlight**

_I know you're still there…  
Watching me  
__Wanting me  
__I can feel you pull me down  
__Fearing you…._

- Evanescence, "Haunted"

_It's the way of the world, love is war  
Where boy meets girl, love is war._

- Bon Jovi, "Love is War"

--

"In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen." Finished with her prayers, Maeve made the sign of the cross and stood up from her kneeled position. "Goodnight, Moon," she whispered, and with a sigh slid into her bed and beneath the welcome embrace of her quilt. It was a full moon tonight, blessing her room with the most beautiful torch nature had to offer. Maeve yawned into her palm. Pity she was exhausted from the past few days or she would have stayed up longer to gaze at the monthly splendor, a splendor the Faeries loved to dance beneath.

Even now as she lay beneath her blanket safely tucked away in her room she knew the Fey were twirling with crowns of bluebells dangling from their hair, berries adorning their ears, and rings of holly twisting their way around each Faery's wrist. The Fey would be whirling hurricanes in flower dresses around the bonfire, flickering and flitting about like flames themselves. With unruly glee they would be dancing to the enthralling music made from their silver flutes, high notes they created to tempt and beckon. The Fey were wildish, unpredictable things, truly Nature's children.

At the thought of her country's native tricksters, Maeve smiled into her pillow. She remembered when she had been but a small girl and had asked Granda if fairies were real. _"Are they really there, Granda?" _she had squeaked, wide-eyed and curious as ever. _"Or just another old story?"_

"_Aye, the fairies are just as real as I am, lass, if the stories be true," _he had answered with a knowing smile. Young Maeve had been annoyed that Granda had answered her question, yet had not.

Those were the creatures she had grown up accustomed to in her country's folklore. They were not evil or bloodthirsty at heart, simply cunning pranksters always eager for the next game that caught their fancy. But what she had seen attacking Felim was no harmless trickster. Maeve shuddered from under her quilt. What she had seen was far more dangerous and had suffocated the air like a dark fog. She could still see Felim's limp body, his blood splashed across the sídhe's lips, the twin pair of knives that were its teeth curled over its lips, and those eyes that scorched between hellish black and endless blue….

_Stop that! _She scolded herself. The last thing she needed was yet another night of inescapable nightmares. _It's bad enough I'm scared of my own shadow now. I do _not_ need to scare myself! I'll drive myself mad! _Maeve shut her eyes and struggled to picture a benevolent thought. Summer was just over a month away and that was always a good thing. And her youngest pupil had at last learned to write his name properly. That moment had made her feel so proud…

The girl had buried herself deeper under her quilt when she heard it: Nothing.

There was nothing, not a sound could be heard. Ireland was silent save for any sound Maeve herself made. Her family had all retired for the night, as had her neighbors. The crickets were not chirping and the night birds sang no lullabies. There was not even a friendly spring breeze whispering through the trees and brushing her window in greeting.

The night was completely still and without any trace of life.

Without warning the eerie sensation that someone was watching her made her quiver. A fierce feeling of unexplained dread washed over Maeve, making her yank her quilt over her head in a useless attempt of security.

_If I cannot see it,_ Maeve thought, finding no humor in her instinctive childish logic. _It cannot see me..._

She did not even dare to breathe too loudly, afraid to move a muscle. If she made the slightest movement she would be seen with most assurance. _Just wait… It will pass…. It will go away…. It has to go away…. Whatever "it" is…. But it can't be _the_ It! It just can't! Go away… Just go away!_

"Leave me alone!" Maeve whispered to the darkness, eyes shut tighter than a clam full of pearls.

Then Maeve felt it: a chill much too cold for late April froze the room. She felt the full moon's warm glow leave her at a torturously slow pace only to be replaced by an ominous shadow that engulfed her bedroom as it slunk across her bed and over her walls. Maeve's heartbeat confirmed that she was terrified. Moments later the shadow cloaked her entire room in an eclipse. No light would aid her from the moon or stars. She gulped. _Turn around! _Maeve commanded herself. _I must turn around and show courage! Granda must have told me a thousand and one stories about legendary heroes! If a servant boy called Wart can become the great King Arthur then I can face the shadow at my window! _

Counting to three, she sat up abruptly, green eyes darting to the window. What Maeve saw made her cry out: It was the sídhe. She would know that figure anywhere. The sídhe's black-clad body took up the entire window, its shadow the mere echo of its true foreboding nature. The window swung open in a rush of icy wind, forcing Maeve to clutch her quilt even tighter. Meanwhile the sídhe eyed her face throughout the entire process, savoring the fearful look stained from her eyes to her parted lips. Now stepping onto the inner windowsill, the sídhe gave a Maeve a good look of its eyes that were completely fixated on her.

Maeve would never forget those striking, menacing sapphires that seemed to burn eternally like the devil himself. Those eyes were so beautiful and terrifying at once. And yet amidst the piercing azure the blue held an ancient charm to it. It was not until the creature stepped further into the room that Maeve snapped out of her frightened stupor. There was a real danger present in her bedroom. This was no dark fantasy she would wake screaming from. Something evil was in her room, something that had come for her. And she was all alone, ripe for the picking.

Without hesitation the sídhe's shadow moved toward her, and Maeve's scream froze in her throat. Her body was frozen too, held motionless by her sea of terror. _I must act!_ a distant voice deep within her commanded. _I cannot stay silent and helpless!_

"Stop!" she began in a regretfully hoarse voice. _"Bí ar shiúl! Bí ar shiúl!" _

The sídhe paused at her outburst, giving Maeve a burst of pluck. "Be gone! Be gone!" she cried again. "You cannot enter here! Leave this house, sídhe!"

The ethereal intruder surprised Maeve with its next course of action: it chuckled. "Did I frighten you, madam? Unfortunately I am out of practice at conversing with maidens. You must forgive me for alarming you. " The sídhe did not sound sorry at all. He sounded amused. And his rich accent must be from some faraway place; she had never heard such a drawl before. _A Faerie man… And not from Ireland's own Fae clans… Why would a foreigner sídhe come here? What bounty has he come to claim? Oh, never mind that he's a man! He strides towards me as the Angel of Death!_

Maeve leapt from her bed and grabbed her rosary from her nightstand. "In the name of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, I command all Evil to leave this house!" She held her rosary beads out in front of her like the most powerful of weapons, and felt a sigh of relief when the sídhe stopped scarcely two feet from her.

"Is this the best defense against creatures of the night they teach you in your churches?" he asked, irritated. "A string of beads?" He noted the girl's trembling arms despite her defensive posture. His lips curled and he began walking towards Maeve, one slow step at a time. "Put those beads down, girl. They will do you no good."

"They've been blessed by a priest!" Maeve warned. Her knees were weak with fear but she stood her ground. _I'm going to die… I know it…_

"Nonetheless, it is a useless trinket, girl. All that pretty rosary does for you is add to your humorous façade of bravery." In a flash a pale hand grasped Maeve's and slowly pried the rosary from her fingertips. Maeve gasped and staggered backwards from the touch as if she had been struck; that hand was so cold! What type of sídhe was this? She had never heard of creatures from the Other World that were cold as death. Not even the bean sídhe were told to feel like ice and the bean sídhe howled to warn approaching death! _He must be some sort of_ _diabhal, _Maeve concluded. A demon.

"Façade?" she echoed. Talking she found made her feel stronger. And the more conversation she had with the creature before her the longer her life would be.

"Yes," Dracula agreed. "Façade: a word meaning a deceptive appearance. In other words, my dear, you hide yourself behind a masquerade. What you are is a foolish girl caught meddling in my affairs, quite far from a valiant warrior. And I transcended any pleasure received from those who interfere with my doings long ago."

"Meddled in _your_ affairs?" Maeve scoffed. "_You_ meddled in _my _affairs when you took Felim! Will you now do to me what you did to him?"

Dracula narrowed his eyes at the girl's impertinence. _Stupid girl,_ he decided. Oh he would enjoy killing her. "Felim?"

"My friend! Surely you remember the man you attacked six nights ago?" Maeve questioned angrily.

"Ah yes, him," Dracula responded coolly. "I have plans for your friend. Such an unfortunate twist of fate that he became my prey."

"And now you come for me because I saw you attack him," Maeve continued in a softer voice. "I knew you would. I will share Felim's fate now, will I?"

"You flatter yourself, girl," Dracula said. "What was done to – Felim is it? – was my gift. He should consider himself fortunate, very fortunate indeed. I am afraid that _your_ destiny however is not so glorious."

"What have you done to Felim?"

"That does not concern you. If I were you, madam, I would concern myself with what awaits _you_."

Maeve bit her lip in a nervous fashion. "And… And what makes you think you'll get away with… whatever it is you are planning?"

Dracula's eyes glittered and he inhaled in an annoyed fashion. "Oh, do you self-righteous buffoons ever think of more original and intelligent phrases? You assume you know everything and would never imagine to ask questions in an eternity."

"I don't think myself 'self-righteous,' diabhal. I am angry!"

Now Dracula cocked his brow curiously. "Diabhal?" he questioned, tasting the Gaelic word.

"My country's word for 'demon' or 'devil,'" Maeve answered indignantly. He flashed a smirk. Oh, how correct this poor, unfortunate soul was…

"And let me warn you, diabhal, that… that my family – "

"Your family lies asleep safely tucked away in their beds. They will not aid you. And I can make them forget you and your _unfortunate_ passing if I wish it. Then I would not need fear a revolt of panic-stricken mortals seeking to destroy what they know nothing of. It will be as if you never existed, as if your parents had only one daughter and three sons."

Maeve's mouth went slack and her eyes grew larger than carriage wheels. She did not know what was more unnerving: the fact that this diabhal conversed so openly about killing her, that he knew about Meredith, Liam, Abban, and Anlon, or that he could make her family forget her entirely. Should she die tonight, she would never even be mourned.

"Besides, girl – " Dracula eyed Maeve intently as he advanced. "You would not endanger your family. I can see it within your eyes. You would rather die than see them punished for your lethal error, is that correct? How boring." He made another lazy step forward, watching Maeve shiver as she fought the urge to run with satisfaction.

"You are alone, my pretty Irish pet." He raised the fist holding Maeve's rosary beads to her eye level and crushed them to dust. Maeve watched the remains of her rosary crumble to the floor and her flicker of bravery seemed to flutter away with it. "Your delicate bones," he said charmingly and dusted his hand off on his cloak. Maeve made the sign of the cross.

The count gave a sigh of annoyance. "You still think that God can protect you? You look to Him even now as you look your executioner in the eye?"

Maeve swallowed hard and kept eye contact with the being before her. "I love God," she replied in a quiet voice.

"What a pity that devotion is. I am afraid, my pet, that you will find that your _passionate_ romance with Him is one-sided." As he moved about the room, Dracula took care to keep his face hidden from the moonlight. All this girl would see of him was flashes of his shadow whilst he darkened her doorway. He was taking no chances.

"So _you_ say."

Azure orbs danced with amusement. "I have been rude."

"I'd say taking my friend, breaking into my room, and promising to kill me adds up to more than just _rude,_ diabhal."

That sentence made Dracula realize the delicacy of the situation he and this girl were in. He had forced his way into a young, somewhat attractive, woman's bedroom. Abruptly he noticed how close he was to her slim form, the intimacy of the small room, the warmth imprisoned in her sheets whilst they were pulled back invitingly, the pillow that still held the imprint of the girl's delicate head…

It was a scene for ravishment that he has unwittingly chosen for her demise. And all the while he could not help but think that as the girl stood there with one steadying hand on her bedpost, hair loose and rumpled from sleeping, her body framed perfectly in her white night shift that she had a vague resemblance to Verona. The positions they stood in mirrored how he and Verona stood centuries ago when he had made her eternally his. Dracula realized with a sick pang that while this Irish girl's hair was not the color of the night-sky like Verona's had been, her fiery hair had the same smooth texture with only a slight curl at her shoulders.

His thin lips tightened as he put his ex-bride from his mind. She was gone and could serve his interests no further. And the girl before him certainly was no use to him other than dead and buried beneath the earth.

"Where are my manners? Here I cause you such distress and I do not even know your name. Do enlighten me."

Maeve eyed the diabhal with a curious appraisal. _Why would that of all things matter? _

"Surely even pests have names?" he inquired with a twist of his lips. At least, it looked like he was smirking at her. The diabhal kept his face shrouded in the dark and her room remained eclipsed. And it appeared that he could read her thoughts as well.

"It's… Maeve. Maeve Reilly," she whispered awkwardly.

"Ah, what a lovely name for a lovely nuisance," Dracula responded dryly.

Maeve glared at him. "And what is your name then?"

"It is not typical for those condemned to die to know their executioner's name."

"True," Maeve agreed. "But this isn't a typical situation, is it?" she countered.

She caught the whisper of a chuckle. "No, my pet, it is not. And for your astute deduction skills – "

Was he mocking her now, too? She wished God would smite this rude, arrogant diabhal down – and possibly spare her life as well.

" – I will give this answer. I have many names bound to me. You choose what you call me."

"Surely even demons have names?" Maeve asked with a wry grin of her own.

"Do you think we do?" Dracula inquired, somewhat amused with this mortal.

"Is that not what I asked you?"

"Enough questions! I believe I asked _you_ one…. Maeve."

Maeve felt goose bumps crawl up her flesh for no reason at all. "You did. My answer is that I don't know. I have never met a demon before."

"A truthful answer at the very least," Dracula said, a flicker of intrigue rising to the surface. "Here is another question for you to answer truthfully: do you fear me?"

"What sort of question is that?" Maeve inquired. Truthfully, she did not want to give her answer. She wanted so badly to look brave and admitting her fear would not do that. Yet if she lied the diabhal would most certainly know and lying to his face would anger him.

"I am the one asking the questions here, _Maeve,_" he husked.

"I…"

"Oh my, what a lovely heartbeat you have, my dear. What an enticing tune…" He clapped his hands together in time with her racing heart. "It tells me the truth even if you do not."

All uncertainty left her. "I have no desire at all to tell you what you wish to hear! That will be my sole victory! If… If you are here to kill me than just get it over with!"

Dracula raised a dark eyebrow at Maeve's outburst. Slowly he held his hands behind his back as he mulled over this girl. How annoying and yet intriguing that this girl was, in short, defying him despite her obvious fear. Perhaps his intrigue would serve as her savior tonight.

"Are you going to kill me?" Maeve questioned again in a shaky voice. "I would rather face death knowing it comes now rather than wait anxiously for it. I… I would like to have some dignity left." Afraid she may be, but she would not let herself tremble like a leaf in autumn! This creature seemed to enjoy inciting fear and so she would deny him that favor and run to God's arms.

Dying could not be too painful could it? She certainly did not want to die but Maeve had no hope of survival now. She had defied the diabhal and had nothing to show for it. He had already assured her she would die tonight. He obviously had the power to do it at any moment. There was no doubt in her quivering heart that she would die at this diabhal's leisure. Yes, she would be in Paradise soon enough and would never have to fear again. And then her debt to this monster would be paid and forgotten_. But…but what about Felim?_ If she died how would she know what truly happened to him?

Dracula directed his attention back to Maeve. "I have generously allowed you life this night. Are you so eager for me to change my mind?"

_I thought he just said he was going to kill me! _Maeve raised her hands in front of her in a defensive position. "No…. No I am not. You came here to kill me yet now you say you have 'granted me life' so now you have… confused me."

"Yes, I suppose it would be rather difficult for your intelligence to remain in time with mine."

Maeve scowled. Insult her intelligence now, would he! "I don't think myself so dimwitted," she shot back. "One of my reasons being that I'm a teacher and I would not possess that job if I were stupid!"

The sides of Dracula's mouth twitched. He found he rather liked this girl being angry with him. Baiting her meant her attention was on him and he was privileged of watching her face flush into a lovely shade of pink and defiance.

"Perhaps it is your superiors who are the dolts," he suggested.

Maeve stubbornly refused to answer.

"You know dear one, I think I_ will_ let you live tonight. I must take my leave now for I have a previous engagement to attend to. But make no mistake, lovely one, we_ will_ continue this fascinating discussion another time."

Maeve blinked at the sudden change. The diabhal almost seemed cheerful. And he was leaving… And she was still alive!

"But in the end, will you kill me?"

The diabhal paused at the window. "Perhaps."

_What does this mean?_ thought Maeve as chewed her lip. "You're not one to give a straight answer, are you?" she found herself spitting out. Maeve thought she heard the diabhal stifle a chuckle.

"In time you will discover if your life is forfeit to me. Good night, _Maeve_."

He was then gone and the full moon showered its ethereal glow on Maeve again.

--

"Is it finished?"

"Yes, Master. The Turning has completed. He is one of us now."

"Success! Now, show me my new fledgling, Antonio."

"Of course, Master. Right this way."

The two vampires made their way to the cellar of the manor in silence. Antonio chose this time to risk a question for his master. "Master? Might I be so bold as to make an inquiry?"

"Concerning?"

"Concerning your mood. The last few nights you were… tense."

"I had been concerned that there would be complications with creating Irish fledglings. Now you have told me that my worries were not justified. That is all, Antonio."

He was toeing the line with this one, Antonio could tell. Therefore he would attempt a different approach with his master. "I fed on one of the neighboring farmer's daughters earlier this evening, Master."

Dracula curled his lips. So his servant could smell a female on him could he? Antonio was no doubt worried about his "limitations."

"Yes, Antonio, I have been around a mortal woman tonight. Though it matters not. She amuses me now, but in the end I will of course kill her."

Antonio grinned. "You saw right through me, didn't you, Master?"

"You've been in my service too long. But those in my service should learn to be less inconspicuous when manipulating."

Still grinning, Antonio light-heartedly replied, "Yes, Master."

Upon reaching the cellar, Antonio opened the door for his master and showed him in. In the center of the dark room kneeled a humanistic form, head hung low as if it were sleeping.

"Rise," Dracula commanded impassively as he strode in. The man stood up in a smooth motion but kept his eyes downcast. "Do you know who I am?" Dracula inquired, clasping his hands behind him in one fluid movement.

"Y-yes. You are… Master. I was created to… serve you."

"Good." He walked behind the fledgling. "And your name is?"

"Felim. Felim McHenry."

The count came full circle as he stood in front of Antonio. "Very good."

"He has fed, Master," Antonio put in. "The fledgling shows much potential, Master, though he is still freshly made. He waits to do your bidding."

"I don't recall eating…" Felim suddenly murmured, confusion a distinct in the haze clouding his eyes. And why was he being called 'the fledgling?' "My family… my family must be worried…"

Dracula placed a firm grip on Felim's shoulder, facing him head on with sharp eyes. "You have been reborn into a new family. Do not dwell in the past."

Felim crumpled his face as he fought to think. "Yes, but – "

"You have been reborn into a new family," Dracula repeated. "You belong here where the only clemency you will receive is from us. Antonio is your brother and I am your master. Your fellows residing in this manor are also your brothers. You serve the House of Draguila now, Felim. Know _nothing_ but that."

"Yes… yes of course…. Master."

"Indeed. Now, Felim, you must rest. You will receive your orders later once you become strong and can… test your wings."

"Yes, Mas – "

"Count! I have information that may be useful to you."

Dracula and Antonio turned around to see Conn Zaylour standing in the doorway with a haughty expression on his usually timid face.

"Forgive my intrusion, but I wanted to relate this to you as soon as possible, so I came as fast as I could."

"How thoughtful," Dracula said coldly. "You are fortunate that I have finished here, Conn, or I might be less inclined to forgive your interruption – doubtless of how important your reason is."

Conn held back a swallow at the count's narrowed, irritated eyes. It seemed it would be impossible to gain his favor. But perhaps this would help his cause. "You see, Count, there is – "

"Not here," Dracula interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand. "We will have this conversation in the drawing room."

"Right. I – I will wait for you there. Err - Excuse me."

Dracula nodded his head as Conn departed. Once the Irish vampire had gone the count turned to Antonio and inhaled deeply. "I suppose I should hear whatever it is Conn believes I must know. Deal with Felim and then come to the drawing room."

_Stupid, damned, arrogant, Count! _Conn thought from within the drawing room. _Making me wait when I possess information that might actually help him! I should have remained in my castle instead of offering my service. The count is an amadán – a fool. I hate him. I truly hate him! He is – _

"Forgive me for keeping you waiting, Conn," Dracula greeted whilst entering the drawing room. Conn jumped up from his seat. "It is… quite all right. I was simply marveling at the manor's furniture while I waited," he sputtered.

"What an intriguing past time," Dracula replied as he claimed a seat beneath the drawing room's paintings and brought his fingertips together. "Now out with it. What do you deem so important?"

Conn languidly took an armchair opposite the count. "I remembered a piece of Ireland that may prove very useful to you. It could make your task easier and domination over the mortals could be achieved much faster."

"I'm listening."

Conn cleared his throat. "There is a place in Ireland not far from here called the Hill of Tara. Tara is home to many ancient monuments of this country and is considered to be the seat of _Árd Rí na hÉireann_. The High King of Ireland. At the summit of the hill is what we Irishmen call the Fort of Kings. Alongside the Fort are the Mound of Hostages and the _Liá Fail,_ where the High Kings were crowned, as well as many ring-forts."

"How does this concern me?"

"It concerns you, milord, because _Liá Fail_ is the Stone of Destiny."

Dracula snorted. "I chart my own course, Conn. No large rock will tell me my future."

Conn shook his head. "You misunderstand me, Count. The Stone of Destiny does not reveal your future. It helps you _forge_ destiny! Because you are Vampire King, you might have the ability to command the Stone of Destiny to embrace your power and do as you bid. You can enslave all humans at once without fear of repercussions – if you can decipher it."

Dracula eyed the younger vampire thoughtfully. Lucifer would not like it if he took his plan into his own hands. The count's eyes twinkled. "You have intrigued me with this Stone, Conn," Dracula drawled. "Show it to me."

"Now?" Conn questioned incredulously.

"_Now." _

"But – but Count! To go to the Hill of Tara now would be dangerous! The Fey are out now dancing! If we intrude upon their Hill now they will see us break the fragile treaty between Nosferatu and Fae! They will not be pleased and be prone to attack!"

"Oh, do little leprechauns frighten you, Conn?" Dracula taunted.

"The wrath you ask me to invoke belongs to no leprechaun," Conn muttered furiously. "The Fey have openly expressed their dislike for the Undead before, Count. I do not wish to fight an army of territorial tricksters!"

Dracula eyed Conn with disapproval as he stood up to straighten his jacket. "You disgrace yourself, coward," he hissed. "I fear no fairy! If the Fey wish to relinquish their lives then that is their own concern, not mine."

"But, Count. I don't think – "

"Enough!" Dracula roared, eyes flashing and the lamps diminishing. Conn shrunk back with a low hiss. Dracula ignored him and walked briskly towards the door and to the awaiting Antonio.

"Come, Conn. Show me this… Stone of Destiny."

* * *

**AN:**  
Yes! Dracula and Maeve met again! Everybody laugh evilly with me! haha. I had Dracula briefly think of Verona because she was his first bride, the one he would have loved if he could, therefore the only one he really cared about, if he COULD care. Oh and back in the day, Catholic/Christians said Holy Ghost instead of Holy Spirit, but in the 1960s-70s people decided "Ghost" was too creepy so they changed it to Spirit. Anyway, it's all Dracula's fault that this wasn't up sooner. The man _must_ have all his lines be perfect or else no deal. Perfectionist Control Freak.

Stuff I have to give props to: I borrowed the title of this chapter from line in _A Midsummer's Night Dream _Act II. Bean sidhe is Gaelic for Banshee, a creature in Celtic Mythology that screams when someone in the Irish family it attatched itself to is about to die. Also the Hill of Tara is considered special and it used to be illegal for a fire to even be seen from it. It was once considered the place where the High Kings of Ireland were crowned, which is what I'm using for the story. But later research proved it false, that it was used as a sacral site associated with Indo-European Kingship rituals.

I'm taking some liberties with the legend of the Stone of Destiny, too. According to legend, it was where the High Kings were crowned, and the Stone would scream out all across Ireland if the would-be king touched it. In the story however I'm having the Stone be an ornament of power that a king, like Dracula, can tap into to use its power for his big bad plan. Hey, this is fanfiction isn't it?

So, what art thou thoughts on the chapter?


	6. Past the Mists and Within the Stone

**Chapter 5: Past the Mists and Within the Stone**

"We have arrived, Count." Conn waved a hand to reveal the Hill of Kings, allowing the count to run his eyes over the ancient landmark, noting each ring fort and barrow with care. "Behold, the Hill of Tara," Conn added.

Dracula relished the feeling of the place, how old it was, far older than even he was, and still impeccably intact. The lush, green land was an ocean and the stone architecture was its armada. Every inch of Tara Conn had described to him he could see: the Royal Seat, the Fort of Kings, and even the Mound of Hostages.

It was beautiful.

He would not admit it aloud, but this hill of old was captivating. One glimpse of the Hill and you could distinguish a great stone court, the epitome of Celtic power. This empire would not crumble to time and enmity in the near future. Though it was a wonder that humans had not destroyed it yet. Humans, despite their breathing and heartbeat, were very often unfeeling and destructive, especially with diamonds in the rough that were so rare to find.

In Dracula's experience, humans did not know what life truly was. They had such short lifetimes and wasted the little time they had on petty indulgences. Furthermore, humans were prone to waste that which eluded their own intelligence and thus that made them weak. Powerful men did not waste. He never wasted anything or anyone. Everyone could provide one service or another. If not, they held no right to live, or so said his philosophy.

"Show me the Stone of Destiny," Dracula ordered. Conn eyed the count, scorn broiling behind his cautious demeanor. He was not taking this seriously, was not taking Conn seriously. The elder vampire had not even spared him a glance since they took to the sky. The Fey were about; dew and mist covered the countryside like a snug blanket. As soon as the vampire trio stepped onto the Hill, they would be breaking the treaty and the Fey would come to defend what was theirs. Conn had not intended he come along as well. He had hoped the count would sate his curiosity himself, and on a night that the Fey were dormant.

"This way then, Count. Though I warn you, once we arrive at the Stone, the Fey will know and rush to their sacred grounds."

Dracula's cool expression did not change. "Let them come if they wish. Now lead the way. Antonio and I will follow."

Conn allowed a low grunt escape his lips, further displaying his displeasure. "V-very well. Let us proceed." He took several more paces forward, leading the count and Antonio past numerous stone monuments.

"If you did not wish to show me this place, Conn," Dracula said. "Then why mention it to me?"

"I…" _Think, Conn, think! _"I merely wish to serve you, Count. You must pardon my behavior. I am afraid my supper did not agree with me." Conn continued walking, hoping to arrive at the Stone quickly and divert Count Dracula's attention from him. They had just crossed the fairy border.

"I believe I have warned you once before not to defy me, Conn. I do not tolerate impertinence."

"I will r-remember that, Count, I assure you," he stuttered. Conn approached the _Forradh_ – the Royal Seat and pointed to the large standing stone that was a few feet from it. "There it is, gentlemen. The Stone of Destiny."

The Stone was large and reached high to the heavens. It was smooth and beaten by the wind yet stayed mighty as ever. Below it was a halo of pebbles that served as a platform to further the display. In all its greatness it still looked nothing more than a giant stone, grand to be certain, but not a vessel of ancient power. Dracula knew better. He stepped forward past Conn and Antonio and onto the Hill, walking the last few feet alone. Upon reaching his destination Dracula laid his right hand over the Stone.

"How intriguing," he said as he slid his hand down the Stone languorously. "The Stone is cold on the outside, yet I can detect the glimmer of fire deep within it. Fire within ice. It is faint, but detectable. I wonder, Conn, if you might tell me how I harness the Stone's power?"

"There are many legends surrounding the Stone of Destiny," Conn replied. "One is that the Stone howls across all of Ireland to announce that a true king has asked for its service. That legend must be untrue."

"Fascinating," Dracula replied brusquely. "But you have failed to answer my question. How do I use the Stone's power for my benefit?"

"As to that I am unsure, Count. As I already said, there are many tales that attach themselves to the Stone of Destiny. It is very difficult to discern what is true and what is false…"

"All things are true," the count whispered, a dark look upon his face like a bored feline. "But few lies are accurate."

"…Well said, Count! But I am afraid that does not narrow down my country's folklore concerning the Stone…"

"If you do not know how to obtain the Stone's power, then why did you bother even telling me of its existence?"

Conn stiffened. "I… I had…"

"You waste my time, Conn," Dracula hissed. "You waste my time, my patience, and I should say that you are a waste of a vampire. Should I ever discover your sire, Conn, know that I will enlighten him of his most grievous error!"

"Forgive my disruption, master, but I am afraid that we have company," interrupted Antonio. He indicated the thickening mist that was surrounding them. Conn hissed. "It is the Fey!" he cried. "I warned you…I said they would come! We must leave _now _or risk the Fey declaring war on us!"

Dracula turned on his heel and snarled at Conn, forcing the younger vampire to stagger back with fear. "No one is going anywhere, understood!" The count's eyes were a black abyss as he bared his fangs. "You are making a fool of yourself! And you dare call yourself a vampire?" Dracula tsked in the back of his throat as he composed himself. "I will handle this. You don't think I know how to deal with delicate matters of diplomacy?"

Both Antonio and Conn remained silent, though Antonio fought the urge to grin. His master had always been such an excellent motivational speaker, particularly with those he… disagreed with.

Dracula turned to face the cloud forming around them. One by one the cloud began to fade as the silhouettes of what looked like people began to form. Heads and bodies took the place of the mist, though clouds still clung to their legs. The creatures looked human save for a few telltale qualities: the tips of their ears were slightly pointed; they wore ethereal clothing of flora, hair of all colors was tangled and matted to the demise of any mortal hairbrush, and most of all, each individual harnessed a fierce disposition. Their eyes were bright and wild, more so than even the Nosferatu.

"You are trespassing on fairy land," a male faery bellowed. "We do not treat this crime lightly – particularly when that crime is committed by a vampire."

The faery stood at the top of the semi circle his fellows had created before the trio of vampires. A quick glance told Dracula that there were a dozen of them: Seven males and five females. He smiled confidently and took a step forward.

"Yes, I understand that. I regrettably must ask your pardon. I have been exploring your land and my associate Lord Conn Zaylour informed me that this place would be of special interest to me."

"That is no excuse! To any mortal that strays upon our lands, we take into our world to do with as we see fit. What makes you so certain that you can trespass and not pay the price, vampire?" another faery challenged, a female this time. Wicked murmuring echoed in the mists. They had never held a vampire in their realm before. None had ever been so dim-witted. But what _fun_ they could have…

"Ah, how rude of me. Allow me to introduce myself. I am – "

"We know who you are, Count Vladislaus Dracula of Transylvania," the first faery retorted. "We know who your servant and fellow vampire lord behind you are as well. To be truthful, there is little in our land we don't know. I am Daire. I tell you this not because I think you will care to remember me, but because in the games of my people we think it important to let our opponent know who we are. We give them one clue, no more."

Dracula bowed his head. "Such generosity you display in your games," he remarked smoothly. "But I have come here to play no game."

"Yes," said dark-haired male on Antonio's left side. "You come here because you think the key to your chains can be found here within _our_ Stone of Destiny!"

Dracula stiffened briefly and continued. "I would suggest you tread carefully, faery," he hissed. "Do not accuse me of a crime I have not committed. Woe to you if you do!"

"Oh, we know plenty of your crimes, Count Dracula," Daire chuckled. "We know what restraints were cast upon you to teach you a lesson."

"And frankly," a shorter female with golden hair sniggered. "We approve."

"Oh yes," agreed one from the right side of the half-circle. "Take away the vampire's_ physical_ outlet! We think it's pure genius!"

Dracula growled venomously. "Oh, do you?"

Silver-bell laughter filled the air. "But of course! In every game, there is a loser. And the loser's consequences are always the most entertaining!"

"I do not appreciate being mocked," the count hissed, his every muscle tensed and craving to rip throats. "And I appreciate even less those who makes light of my suffering!"

"And _we_ don't appreciate you interrupting our games and planning to steal power from our land!" shouted the golden-haired female. She raised a pointed finger at Dracula and cried," If you like our Stone so much, than you can stay with it!"

At her words, thick vines with thorns erupted from the ground and held the count's legs fast. Quickly they slithered up his body until Dracula was wrapped entirely in thorny vines. The thorns dug deep into his flesh and his blood wet the Irish soil, but Dracula did not wince. A mental command to Antonio told the Spaniard not to make a move against the Fey but to wait. Distinctly hearing the Fey's laughter, Dracula flexed his wrists and pushed. Within a moment he leapt from the thorns confines and roared in his hell beast form.

The Fey stopped laughing.

The count reverted to his human state. "I would not try that again," he coldly warned the golden-haired faery. She managed to glare back, her nose crumpled like that of a child's.

"Oh, come now, Count," a male from the back tsked. "She was just having a little fun. Ever hear of the word? Fun?"

Dracula's eyes became slits of icy blue as he stared down the male faery. He noticed that this faery's hair was pure white as it cascaded down his back, despite his young, impish face. And this one wore brighter colors of red, blue and purple than the rest of his kinsmen.

"See, we don't like it when our land is intruded on. Surely you can understand that? Further more, in order to deal with the intruder – that's you – we had to leave the rest of our clan at a party we're hosting this night. Didn't you know? It's the Beltaine Ball in two days! The first day of summer to all, and to beings like us, the celebration of fertility!"

The faery crossed his arms as if to think. "Wait just an Avalon minute! The undead don't celebrate Beltaine, do they? After all, fertility is not a gift vampires are known to have, is it?"

The count's eyes flashed black. "I have heard enough from you! I removed the tongues of impertinent peasants for daring less!" he roared and made to pounce on the smirking faery.

"Stop!" Daire bellowed. "If you attack one of my kind Count Dracula, you will find yourself in a worse hell than before! Stand down!"

The side of Dracula's face twitched but he moved no further.

"And _you_!" Daire addressed the faery. The faery blinked.

"What? It isn't my fault if the undead king of the stiffs is just that – a stiff! If he cannot handle a few insults - "

"Let us return to our previous discussion," Daire cut in. "The Morning Star has no sway over our kind. We belong to a separate sect of beings. But we do detect whispers of him and his creatures."

Still eyeing that one faery murderously, Dracula took note that the Fey seemed to truly act as one. When one moved the others shifted. One talked and the others leaned in to listen. Interesting.

"And the only reason you, the son of the devil, would be allowed clemency here is if you claimed the right of one of our sacred customs."

The count cocked his brow. "Enlighten me about these… customs."

Daire's lips curled, his own eyes dancing with trickery. "Why, Count Dracula, you don't know why you are here?"

That annoying silver-bell laughter that was making Dracula's hair stand on end in rage erupted again.

"Never fear, Count Dracula, you have provided us with good sport this night. And thus we end our quarrel. You are allowed to go about the Hill of Tara as you wish tonight only. Afterwards, you must find one of our sacred customs to claim you if you wish to seek refuge here again."

"Understood," he replied coolly. Without another word, the Fey disappeared, leaving nothing behind them but mist and the lingering echo of their laughter. Dracula immediately turned to Conn. "Now, what do you know of their sacred customs?" he demanded.

Conn swallowed, uneasy around the glittery-eyed count and the dangerous edge to his voice. "They have many customs, the Fey," he began.

"Yes, yes, so you have told me," Dracula said impatiently. "But what custom of theirs can I use to square my debt with the devil?"

"Well… I… They…"

"I don't have all eternity!" he snarled. He would not let those pixies have the last laugh! He had lost many things in his long lifetime, but his pride had never been one of them.

Conn's wandering eyes found the Mound of Hostages. Then it hit him, a pleased grin the production of his epiphany. "I know just the one, Count!"

"Good. You aren't entirely useless after all. And it is?"

"See the Mound of Hostages? If a human is sacrificed there, a king can use the spilt blood to conjure up the Stone's zenith of power! The Fey even use it every few centuries!"

"A human sacrifice? Charming." Dracula was already making plans to snatch the first human he found on the road.

"There is more, Count. The Sacrifice must be completely willing and must trust the one who takes their life. No mind-control."

Dracula scowled. Of course it was not that easy. "What foolish human would agree to that?"

"You would be surprised… And this ritual must be completed on the Hunter's Moon."

Autumn, and that was months away… His arms locked behind him, Dracula paced around the Stone of Destiny. What was time to an immortal? But what human could he mold to trust him, so much so that they were willing to forfeit their life for him? What human would let their blood flow down the Mound of Hostages and into the Stone? Dracula blinked and turned around to face Antonio and Conn, a devilish grin carved into every inch of his face. This plan would work and he would take vast pleasure as he watched it unfold.

"Master…? Are you well?" Antonio inquired.

"Oh, never better, Antonio," Dracula answered, grinning whilst he stared out into the night sky. His plot thickened with each winking star. "I know just what do about our situation. All it takes on my part is a special… touch."

* * *

**AN:**  
Oh dear, what is the count up to now?

Anyway, onto the educational part of the Author's Note. Everybody cheer! Beltane/Beltaine is a festival celebrated around the world on May 1. It has been celebrated as the first day of summer, and to those who practice Wicca, the Druids, (or the Fairies in this instance) May Day was considered the Day of Fertility. Now isn't that interesting?

Oh yes, and since the Fey aren't on Team Luci aka the Morning Star, Luci's rule that Dracula can't let a woman see him doesn't count for a fairy woman. So yes, if Dracula was desperate enough he could hook up with one of them. Now, would a fairy lady agree to hooking up with Count Bad First Impression and let him score with her? Probably not. Especially after this chapter. So Dracula's abstinence is still in effect unless he risks a woman seeing him. Though he could knock her out...but that wouldn't be much fun for him...lol. XD


	7. Beltaine Festivities

**Chapter 6: Beltaine Festivities**

"Maeve! Are you ready yet?"

"Not yet, Mama."

"Well for goodness sakes, child, be quick about it! And I hope you're wearing your very best dress!"

Maeve twirled from the privacy of her room and looked herself over. "Don't worry, Mama! I am."

The dress was not nearly as grand as the fashions the English women wore, but it was pretty in its own right, or so Maeve thought. Her blouse was a pure, virtuous, white with the sleeves cut off just past her elbow. The skirt was green as the countryside grass as it cascaded to her feet. She would have to be careful not to muss this dress or her mother would have her head, especially since her blouse was white. Privately, Maeve was excited to be dressing up for once instead of wearing the same dull dresses each day. Maybe with different colors splashed upon her skin she would be noticed.

Maeve's red hair hung loose around her shoulders like a wedding veil save for the twin, slender braids that crowned her brow. She had bathed and scrubbed herself so that clean even her mother would find no fault. With the assistance of her rarely worn festival dress, Maeve couldn't help but think that she was pretty. Not beautiful, but she didn't think herself a hideous ogre either.

To her reflection she mumbled a silent plea to God. She prayed, oh how she prayed she'd be asked to dance at the Beltaine Festival! Her own little sister, the gossipy, spineless twit that she was, always captured a partner for every dance. Was gossiping a desirable trait in women the men sought? Maeve hoped not. She also had no doubts that Meredith would be proposed to before her and what a disaster that would be. Well, not for the gossip wolves.

Maeve was the elder sister. She was meant to do everything first: learn to walk and talk, climb a tree, sew her first dress, injure a limb or two, be called on by a lad and eventually start a family. Maeve was ahead in all but the last on her list. Men her age eyed her but never courted her. Looked but never chased. It was in this that Meredith Reilly excelled and Maeve could never unlock her secret. But she vowed that tonight she would not be a wallflower. She would spend the day playing games and eating good food and once nightfall came, she would acquire a dance partner!

Deep down, however, Maeve possessed a nasty thought that she would. Just because it was a festival of celebration didn't mean anything would change for _her._

There came a low knock on her door. "Maeve! Mama is becoming more irritated than usual. Are you ready yet?"

Maeve sighed. One last look at herself told her that this was as good as she was going to get. "I'm coming, Meredith," she called, grabbing her shawl as she approached her door.

"Ooh, you look wonderful!" Meredith cooed at the sight of her sister.

Maeve smiled warily. "Really? You think so?"

Meredith grinned. "But of course! Just think of what you'll put in the lads' heads! You'll cause a scandal one of these days, you will, sister dear!"

Maeve laughed and shifted her weight uncomfortably. "I certainly hope not."

"You're so boring, Maeve! Think of how famous you'll be if you become the subject of scandal!"

"Infamous."

"What?" Meredith questioned, tilting her head like a dog told to play nicely with the housecat.

"Infamous," Maeve corrected. "The correct term for someone who is well-known for committing some terrible deed is infamous."

Meredith rolled her eyes. "Oh what is the difference? The word 'famous' is in it, is it not? Just think of Felim. He was a nobody, and now he's somebody because he took off!"

Maeve winced. This was just what she needed. "For the last time, Meredith! Felim. Did. Not. Run. Away! There's no proof!"

"But there's nothing to prove that he didn't run away to seek his fortune either!" Meredith argued.

Maeve sighed and shut her eyes tight. She refused to think of Felim tonight. For one night she was going to forget all about Felim, creatures of legend, and threats to continue a conversation. "Come," Maeve rasped. "We have a party to go to."

"Yes we do!" Meredith linked arms with her sister and called to their mother that they were on their way.

"Oh, let me see you girls!" Catherine exclaimed, clasping her hands to her bosom. Meredith curtsied with a wide smile plastered on her face. "What do you think, Mama?" she asked with a bob of her head.

"You look, stunning, daughter! Just look at you all grown up!"

Meredith beamed.

Maeve suppressed the urge to gag.

"Edward, what do you think of Meredith? A fine young lady our daughter, is she not?" Catherine crowed.

"A beautiful flower," he agreed. He then turned to Maeve. "But you, Maeve, are the precious gem. My eldest." He placed his hand under her chin. "Don't you forget it!"

"Aye," Brian agreed with a wink.

Maeve's cheeks flushed bright pink. "Thank you, Papa."

Meredith wrinkled her nose with displeasure. "Aren't my hair ribbons beautiful? They match my eyes perfectly!" She shook her silky locks to make her point.

"Yes they do," Catherine said. "And what lovely eyes they are. Now, Maeve, a gem you are – but every gem needs a good polish. Here – " She took a step closer to Maeve and loosened the top of her blouse.

"Mama!"

"Oh, don't argue, Maeve. Leave it! There does not have to be a difference between modesty and allure. You _can_ have both at once. And stop that frowning! You'll ruin your face!"

Maeve inhaled and then exhaled. "Mama, I don't think – "

"Don't think! Hold still! This stray hair here needs to be tamed." After a few more tries the hair still fell loose from the top of Maeve's head.

"Really, Catherine, it's just her hair – " Edward began.

"Edward, I don't tell you how to raise the boys in the yard and you don't tell me how to prepare the girls for their appearance at galas!"

"Any time now, Catherine," Brian teased, both hands clutching the top of his cane as he hunched over. "I'm sure we'll be on time for _next year's _Beltaine Festival."

"Oh, be quiet, Papa! This does not concern you!" Catherine hissed, still fussing with Maeve's hair.

"Mama. The hair is not going to stay put. Besides, The dance isn't even until tonight! By then my hair will be a mess anyway."

"Not if you're careful it won't," Catherine replied curtly and took a step back to appraise her eldest daughter. "There. Now we can go."

"Praise the Lord for He is good," Brian proclaimed, amusement sparkling from the shine in his eyes to the curl of his lips.

"You know, Maeve," Meredith whispered. "You probably should have just let Mama fuss with your outfit. You know she'll do it anyway, no matter what you or anyone else says. You're the _eldest._"

Maeve turned to look her sister in the eye. That was probably the most intelligent, accurate remark she had said all morning.

Upon arriving, it was clear to the Reilly clan that the festival was already in full swing. Music roared loud and proud. The young and old frolicked from the different booths set up for games and a large variety of food imported from the countryside. Bright and colorful streamers covered the trees and lampposts, leaving the city unrecognizable in its current decorative splendor.

Every ornament prophesized merriment.

--

"Mama, may I return home now?" The uneasy girl yearned to leave the festival. There was nothing for her there.

Catherine eyed her eldest daughter. "Have you danced with anyone tonight?"

Maeve bit her lip and her eyes danced from side to side. "Yes."

"With someone _not_ related to you?"

"Er, well… no."

"Then my answer is no. Don't give up hope! Surely a young man here will dance with you. Meredith has danced so many jigs tonight she nearly fainted a few moments ago."

Maeve grimaced. "One dance and then I am excused?"

Catherine pursed her lips. "Oh, I'm not punishing you, Maeve! Don't act so gloomy! I'm trying to help you with your skills of socialization. This is for your own good. One dance with a handsome young man is all I ask, and then you are excused for the night."

Maeve meekly nodded and walked off towards the food booths, head down. She would be here all night. Maybe she could hide somewhere to discourage further embarrassment on her behalf. Was God punishing her? Had she been vain to think herself pretty? Surely she had sinned to earn the bad luck she had received tonight. Irritated with her lack of dance partners, she had attempted to take matters into her own hands. That had gone horribly wrong.

"Why hello there, little queen."

Maeve jerked her head up and smiled. "Hello, Granda."

The old man smiled back from his seat at a table near the beverage booth. "Enjoying yourself, lass?"

"…Yes, Granda. Of course I am. It's a festival isn't it?" She took a seat beside her grandfather and managed another smile.

Brian's eyes twinkled. "Your mother won't let you retire yet? So rushed to marry you off to the first willing lad falls in lust with your looks."

Maeve blushed scarlet and her eyes widened slightly. "Granda! Well – You see – " She wrung her hands. " - I'm…tired... and wish to go to bed. It's been a long day."

Brian laughed and slapped his knee. "Oh, do not be so embarrassed, little one. I don't mean to make you uncomfortable. 'Tis a common fact that your mother waits for a man to feel lust for you, not love. She frets over many woes, lass, you must understand that."

Maeve nodded. "I know. I don't want to be a burden to anyone… I certainly don't mean to but I don't know what I'm doing wrong…"

Brian shook his head. "Nay, lass, you are no burden, and you certainly not be doing anything wrong. The lads your age simply have horse dung for brains."

Maeve giggled. "I do not disagree with that topic, Granda."

"Indeed." Brian slowly forced himself to his feet. "Come along, lass, I wish to buy myself some refreshment. Would you like anything?"

Maeve stood up as well and helped steady him. "No, I am all right, Granda."

"No? Well let us be off then." He hobbled to the beverage booth. "One gin, please," he told the elderly woman working the booth.

The woman shook her head. "I am sorry, sir, but I cannot sell you any more alcohol tonight."

Brian furrowed his eyebrows together in confusion. "Why not, madam?"

"I beg your pardon, sir, but your daughter told me I was to refuse to sell you any. She said it was bad for your health."

"Bad for my health – ha! I'm a full-grown man and my daughter best remember that! This is a day of celebration and I will drink to that as much as I please!"

The old woman stuck up her nose at him. "I am truly sorry, but I cannot," she replied firmly.

Maeve tugged at Brian's arm to lead him away. "Let's go, Granda. I'll get you something else to drink…"

"Oh no." He turned around. "I want a swig of gin and your mother isn't going to mother me! Watch this, little queen." He limped back to the booth and leaned up over the tabletop.

"Sir," the unpleasant old woman began with a scowl. "I told you that I cannot – "

"Oh no, no, no," he shushed her. "I returned to apologize. You were looking to take care of poor, old me, after all."

The woman relaxed but her scowl remained. "Well… It would not do for you to fall drunk. I would get into all sorts of trouble."

"And I would not dream of putting you in such a situation. But tell me, has anyone ever told you that you have a lovely smile?"

The woman blinked. "To say the truth… well… no… actually no one has ever said such a thing about me…"

Brian grinned and winked at her. "Well, well, well, my dear lady! Let me just say that – "

Maeve gaped at her grandfather. He was flirting with the old gin hag. This took a moment to fully sink in. _Eww!_

After a few minutes of talking, Brian limped back to his seat, a mug of gin in hand and a triumphant grin on his face. The wicked gleam in his eyes made the stars seem dull and obsolete.

"Granda?"

"Yes, Maeve?" His grin never faded. Who ever said the elderly had lost their edge was wrong.

"I am going to forget I saw that."

"Saw what, little queen?" Brian questioned innocently. He slowly tasted the gin, savoring it, but his eyes never left Maeve's.

Maeve rolled her eyes. "Oh, never mind, Granda."

"Here, Maeve. You must be exhausted after all this excitement. Why don't you run-along home? I will tell your mother you danced with that shopkeeper's boy… what is his name?"

"Maitiú," Maeve answered with a nonchalant shrug. "Though everyone calls him Mattie."

"Ah yes, him." Brian nodded to himself. "What are you waiting for? Go on home if you wish."

Maeve mistrustfully eyed the mug in her grandfather's hands. "You will… be all right without me?"

"Of course, of course! Go on then!"

Maeve hugged her grandfather and headed for home. She was honestly tired. Though hiding from humiliation was a good idea, too. To busy herself as she strode along the dark path alone, she counted the trees she saw along her way home. She had no idea of the cost her reckless abandon would demand of her.

Lost within her idle counting as half of an hour past, she gasped with surprise when she felt a cold hand hold her fast from behind and an icy breath whispered in her ear, sending chills down her spine.

"Well, well, well. What is such a pretty, _delicate_ creature such as yourself doing out at night all alone?"

But it was not a voice she recognized.

* * *

**AN:  
**Ok, I think this chapter was lame. I leave early tomorrow morning for my family's annual week of vacation and I wanted to post something before I left, so this was a bit rushed. Forgive me! If there's a popular demand for a rewrite when I come back I'll write one. Feel free to dissect this chapter and give me heaps of concrit. I hope you guys like this chapter regardless.

Educational Fact: Maitiu is Irish for Matthew.


	8. Omen

**Chapter 7: Omen**

"And the second plague," said he, "that is in thy dominion, behold it is a dragon. And another dragon of a foreign race is fighting with it, and striving to overcome it. And therefore does your dragon make a fearful outcry."

- _The Mabinogion_

--

Maeve's throat felt like a desert at high noon as the murderous creature behind her tightened its vice-like grip on her wrists. She could not help but wince at the increase in pain. Such overwhelming physical discomfort was a foreign experience for her.

"Are you afraid?" the unknown voice purred. One hand released her wrist to be replaced by the other hand gripping both her wrists at once. For one moment, Maeve prayed that she could use this to her advantage, until the stray hand slid down her ribcage to her hip, leaving a trail of gooseflesh. Shuddering, Maeve shifted her weight in an effort to eradicate the pain of the fierce hold encasing her. She could feel the bruises forming already like twin perverse bracelets on her wrists. The ache intensifying as seconds dragged on; Maeve could see black dots dancing before her eyes.

"I asked you a question!" the voice hissed behind her ear. "And you would do well not to ignore me, human!" Listening carefully, Maeve could now distinguish that her captor was male.

"Le – Let go of me," Maeve rasped, swallowing repetitively. It was a pity her voiced sounded so pathetically weak or she could have congratulated herself for standing up to two demons in her lifetime. That was a number two times greater than few others could boast. Maeve sharply inhaled when the creature holding her captive still did not loosen his grip. "I said," she tried again with an aggressive snap to her voice. "Let me go!"

She was rewarded with dark, eerie laughter ringing in her ears. This made two confrontations with creatures from the Other World in barely a week. What had she done to merit such attention? None of this was a coincidence. It could not be. But she still could not understand why creatures of legend had been revealing themselves to her. She had been wrong to endure this alone. But whom could she have trusted to ask for guidance? Her grandfather was the most knowledgeable person she knew with expertise on the _sídhe_. But if she burdened anyone with her troubles she would endanger them. She couldn't abide having that crime on her conscience.

However, the answers to her endless wheel of questions were not her most pressing concern for the moment. Without warning, Maeve's eyes rolled with heavy dizziness, her arms and legs were stones. The sole reason she was not on her knees now was due to the iron-hard hands holding her captive from behind. Maeve could hardly steady her own thoughts; she was slipping away into an eternal, swirling abyss of shadows…

"Did you know," the voice hissed in her ear. "That lively prey only serves to heighten my appetite? And I am so very _hungry!_"

Maeve froze, stiff as the Stone of Destiny. _God… Help me! _Her mind cried. Sharp teeth were at her throat, grazing her flesh gently in a mock gesture of reassurance. What was the point of God's plan of granting her life after one encounter with a Dark One only to perish by the hand – teeth – of another one?

She shut her eyes tight, the only control she had over her body. There was no chance of survival for her, not this time. This dark _sídhe _harbored no desire to talk. No, what he wanted was to kill… to feed on her. Life was truly naught but a cruel joke to force her though this terrifying experience again. What was she guilty of to warrant this violent end? Perhaps her vanity before the festival was to blame. That must be it. She had sinned within her mind and expected too much of the world and her looks. Or perhaps it was the fact that she, a woman, held a job outside of home and that was a horrible thing, like her mother had assured her.

She would never know because the creature's teeth brushed against her neck again with more force, making her stomach coil tight with fearful apprehension. At last, she would truly know what had happened to Felim. For what had befallen Felim was about to happen to her. A glance at the world around her once more and it would be over.

A ferocious snarl ripped through the dead silence and Maeve felt the creature holding her hostage be roughly wrenched away from behind her. Her skin prickling from the sudden freedom, Maeve fell forwards to the ground face-first. Upon impact, Maeve tasted a metallic substance coating her lip; she had bitten her tongue. Before another breath could pass from her lips, the creatures addressed each other.

"Now really, Antonio," she heard the first creature say in what seemed to be a hiss. "Was that really necessary?"

"_Sí, sí,"_ the one called Antonio answered coolly in a tongue Maeve did not recognize. "I find it was."

Maeve looked up, wrists throbbing and feeling feeble. Two men stood before her in the moonlight: a tall, light-haired fellow with cruel amber eyes and her savior, the shorter of the two with dark eyes and curly brown hair that stopped at his shoulders. He looked to be only a few years older than her, but if he was from the Other World, he was without a doubt much older than that.

The _sídhe_ that had attacked her leered and stepped closer, dusting himself off. "If you are so hungry, Antonio, I will gladly share. There was no need for that rude interruption," he sniffed.

Shakily standing up, Maeve heard a reply that both repelled and relieved her: "She is not for eating, _Demetrius_. Our lord and master commanded it." The Spaniard stood firm between Maeve and Demetrius, muscles poised and ready to pounce if needed.

Demetrius lazily kicked up a dirt cloud and snorted. "And where is he to stake his claim on the doe? Hunting his catch, now are you? What is next for you I wonder, Antonio, polishing his boots and sewing his shirts? Or perhaps fixing his hair…"

"Your impertinence will cost you should it leave your lips and find his ears, Demetrius," Antonio chided, shaking his head. "Besides, I serve our master willingly."

"Oh, you know that was just a jest between comrades, Antonio. I don't like being told my meal is off limits, so I may seem a slight bit irritable."

Antonio furrowed his brow. "I offer you my most sincere of apologies, Demetrius. But you will leave the master's _chica_ alone?"

Demetrius waved his hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, of course. If she is off limits, I will bow out and find supper elsewhere." He directed his eyes to Maeve. She visibly cringed and forced herself to stay where she was. The instinct to flee was so strong she felt like crumpling to tears.

"Then again," he purred. "I must say that I am so sorry, little human."

"For… for what?" Maeve whispered back. She couldn't help herself.

"So sorry that I could not have you. It wouldn't have hurt too horribly… I am a fast eater. Though I do offer you my condolences. You have much more to fear from my king. I have heard the recent gossip and I do not envy the path ahead of – "

"That is enough from your loose tongue!" Antonio growled and took another strong step forward. "I suggest you take your leave now, Demetrius or mark my words I shall report your doings to the entire Court!"

Demetrius raised both his hands in a passive gesture. "No need for such dramatics, I'm leaving." Before Maeve's eyes, Demetrius disappeared, but not before he bowed mockingly towards her. Maeve felt dizzy again. Claimed by a king? And what did he mean he offered her his pity? What terrible events were in store for her _now? _She wished she could sleep and awaken to discover that all this madness was simply one dreadful nightmare that she could never think of again.

"Are you all right, Señorita Reilly?" Antonio was in front of her now, grabbing her arm to steady her trembling form. She had not realized that she was even shaking. "I… I think so. Who – Who are you? _What_ are you?"

"Oh! How rude of me. Lo siento. I am Antonio García Pérez, son of Pero, son of Julio, son of Emanuel." Antonio smiled warmly at Maeve. "Before you ask, Señorita, I know who you are because my master told me about you. He asked me to look after you for him while he attends to some business."

"…Oh. I suppose a thank you is in order than?" Maeve said, watching Antonio with a mixture of curiosity and gratitude.

Antonio smiled. "Only if you wish it, Señorita."

"I wish it. I mean, thank you. You… saved me from becoming… food. That would have hurt… quite a bit. And forgive me for asking but what does 'Señorita' mean?"

Antonio chuckled. "It is Spanish. It means 'miss.'"

Spain. This creature was from Spain. _That is so far away, _Maeve thought. "That is very interesting Mr. Antonio Garca – Garciay… er…" Maeve flushed with embarrassment. "I am sorry," she mumbled.

"Just Antonio will suffice," he assured the stuttering maiden, laughter cheering his face.

"Wonderful," Maeve sighed with relief. "However, I don't want to be rude, but you never said _what_ you are or who your master is."

Antonio's smile fell. "Why don't we walk back to your home and we shall talk, yes?"

"Very well, but – but we will talk. I have to have some answers." After scarcely a minute of silent walking Maeve spoke: "What are you exactly?"

Antonio's lips twitched upwards. Neither his master nor this mortal girl wasted time when they were determined. His assignment was to warm the girl to his master, make it easier for her to trust her doom. He may as well assuage any fears of their breed now. "Have you ever heard of Nosferatu?"

Maeve paused and eyed Antonio inquiringly. "No, I have not."

"That is what I, along with Demetrius and my master, are. We did not originate here in your country."

"Why are you – Nosferatu – here if you aren't from Ireland?"

"Are we not allowed to see the world?" Antonio teased. "Next question. I assume you have many given what you have endured the last few weeks."

Maeve grinned sheepishly. "I might have one or two. Who is your master?"

"You met him," Antonio replied cautiously. "Though the two of you did not make very good first impressions, I think."

Maeve thought hard. She had already met him? It wasn't the Nosferatu called Demetrius and so that meant there was only one other creature she had met. So it must be: "That thing that killed Felim and came to my room!" she cried, whirling around to face Antonio, wide-eyed and furious. "You work for that monster? He threatened me and my family!"

Antonio grimaced. "He means no offense… you must listen to me to understand…"

"Understand what?" Maeve demanded. "I am not familiar with Nosferatu as they do not exist in my country's folklore, but I know that the man that came to my room was nothing good!"

"Listen, Señorita. You are not the first to misunderstand my master."

"Misunderstand? I think I understood his intentions for me very clearly," Maeve snapped angrily. "He killed my friend, threatened me, my family, and did everything he could to frighten me! If your master is not so terrible, why did he take great delight in making me fear him?"

"Because - " Antonio said curtly. " - It is how he always has been treated: Fear is power."

Maeve blinked. "He probably started it," she murmured childishly. She refused to believe that that shadow monster had sent Antonio to protect her. Not even the _sídhe_ were so contradictory. If they thought you an enemy, they made your life miserable. If they were fond of you, pieces of luck glittered your life. The Nosferatu couldn't be too different. She had just met Antonio, but she felt she could trust him, or maybe she was just desperate to trust _someone_ with all that had conspired. She would have to risk bruising her trust ad pray for the best. Antonio had saved her life. That deed must count for something in this world.

"No," Antonio corrected sternly. "He sent me to apologize for inconveniencing you. He does not make enemies lightly, and certainly does not wish to wage war with a lovely human."

Maeve hmmphed. "You'll understand if I don't entirely trust your master's word."

"You do not like him, do you?"

Maeve scowled. "It's very hard to like someone who kills your friend, frightens the living daylights out of you, plagues you with nightmares, and I believe I am saying too much."

"Perhaps you should keep an open mind and see more than shadows."

The mortal girl looked at Antonio incredulously. "My… grandfather has always told me to keep an open mind."

Antonio grinned again. "He is a wise human. But let us change the subject to something more pleasant, shall we? Any more questions?" Antonio made a mental note to himself: his master had his work cut out for him. This girl saw in black and white. She could not be blamed for that of course, for that was how she had been brought up. But there were countless gray territories between the two borders for her to be educated.

"Hmm…" Maeve thought aloud for a few minutes. _What does one ask an immortal?_ "How old are you?"

Antonio smirked grimly. "Ladies should not ask such personal questions. I am twenty-six."

"How long have you been twenty-six?"

Antonio smirk reached his eyes. "Oh, too long for me to care to remember."

"How many are there of you in the Nosferatu Court and what are you after?"

Antonio stared at her incredulously. "Who spoke of a Nosferatu Court?"

Now Maeve smirked triumphantly. "You did, when you threatened that Nosferatu, Demetrius. You said you might report him to the Court. What other court would you tattletale on him to other than one of your own breed?"

Naïve. She was naïve yet observing and had a potential for greater intelligence if given the opportunity. Lord Dracula would either loathe those traits in this woman or be intrigued by them. His mood when he received Señorita Reilly would determine that, as well as if that personality made it more difficult or easier for his master to gain her trust.

Among other things, he would warn his master of the rowdy behavior that some of the vampire representatives from the different clans flocking to Ireland. One wrong move and all was lost to the flames. Diverting from Lucifer's original plan for Dracula had been a bold move, bold and dangerous. And because of this now vampires serving under Dracula's banner were on the line should their King fail his task. The vampire clans were in an uproar, demanding reassurance from Dracula. Naturally, they were behind their King, Lord, and Master, but politics had always and will always be a messy business.

Upon reaching the Reilly's address, Antonio faced Maeve, a peculiar expression in his eye.

"Antonio…?" she questioned. "You haven't answered my question yet. What is the matter?"

Antonio managed a feeble smile. "Nothing at all. Now sleep and think about what I said about my master. Surprises are like the stars: everywhere." And then he wrapped Maeve in a blanket of drowsiness with his thoughts and materialized her to her bedroom. Before he returned to the Court and his other duties, he looked to Maeve and could not help but see innocence and curiosity all about her like a plague, reminding him of the sister he had lost so long ago.

"Sweet dreams, Señorita."

--

Sunday Mass could not have arrived quicker for Maeve. For her entire life she had been taught that church was a place to find answers. And so sitting in her pew with her family she had paid closer attention to the sermon than she ever had in her life. All daydreaming was suspended and so forth. She had found nothing interesting in the first Reading or the Gospel, but the Second Reading had been appealing. She did not know what to make of it yet, but it was lingering in her mind even after Mass as she lounged beneath a tree whilst her parents conversed with Father Seamus.

_"I urge you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God, your spiritual worship. Do not conform yourself to this age but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and pleasing and perfect."_

_Do not conform yourself to this age but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that you may discern what is the will of God…_ It was strange that a line from the Letters to the Romans could echo so much within her. Maeve continued to mull over what it could possibly mean. Maybe that she was right to behave as she would normally behave? Maybe this curse was a test of her faith; it must be! But that was only her theory. She could ask Granda, or even Father Seamus himself what his sermon meant.

Aside from that, from now on she would not go out alone at night anymore. To do so again would simply tempt the new dangers that populated her country. And she needed more information. She had not forgotten that Antonio had not answered her last question. Kind he might be, but all creatures of legend were her enemy until she knew more of what she had been thrown into. Knowing more, she vowed that she would not stand aside and let more horrible deeds come to pass, not knowing that the creatures called Nosferatu were behind it. An elderly man had been found yesterday morning, pale, cold, and showing no signs of a struggle save for two tiny holes in his neck. No Irish sídhe killed in that manner.

It was said that everything happens for one reason: to serve God's grand design. So she, Maeve Reilly, must have discovered the reality of the Other World for a reason. And as God as her witness, she would fight to fulfill that reason.

Ignoring Meredith, who was chattering away with three of her friends, Maeve stood up and wandered closer to where her parents were conversing with Father Seamus. What on earth are they talking about that is taking so long? Maeve wondered. Tiptoeing closer, she heard it: the words she had been dreading from the moment Meredith could attend galas.

"What do we do, Father?"

"… our first born… Firstborns must always marry first…"

"… what can we say?"

"… proposal at the Beltaine Festival… We could hardly tell the lad 'no!'"

"But what to do with Maeve, Father? What do you suggest?"

"We cannot hold Meredith back from such a glorious and prosperous opportunity…"

Maeve looked away and refused to listen anymore. It had finally happened. Her younger sister had eclipsed her forever. Meredith had been proposed to before her and now Maeve was naught but a burden that needed to be lifted, and an unmarried firstborn while the younger wore a wedding band was nothing but trouble.

With that page turned, the next chapter of her life would begin.

* * *

**AN:  
**Wow, I was amazed that I actually got 10 reviews last chapter. I honestly didn't expect even 5. So thanks a bunch you guys! You all really helped motivate me to write faster. Anyway, taken straight from the Bible is Letters to the Romans:12:1-2. I hope this chapter was a better read than the last one.


	9. Fact and Fantasy

**Chapter 8: Fact and Fantasy**

_"… Greatly attracted by the beauty of mortal women, the king employs his numerous sprites to find out and carry [them] off when possible."_

- Lady Francesca Speranza Wilde, "Ancient Legends, Mystic Charms, and Superstitions of Ireland" (1887)

---

Loud whimpering echoed throughout the house in a symphony of distress. A tiny hiccup and the wails continued, seeming to erupt from within the walls. Maeve spun on her heel and scurried after the lingering sound. As her steps increased, the crying worsened to howls of sorrow and discomfort. She rounded a corner and continued towards the noise, unexpectedly bothered by how chillingly familiar it was to her ears.

"Little one?" she called out, turning around to get a good look of every direction. The familiar weeping reached her ears again, echoing faintly from some unseen room ahead in the corridor. She still could not place the pitiful voice. She took several tentative steps toward the source of the crying. It somehow penetrated the thick armor of fear that had been suffocating her heart in the recent weeks. That was a pleasant change despite the circumstances. Even still Maeve felt a chill trickle down her back at the child's broken voice, so frightened and desperate it seemed.

"It is all right!" Maeve found herself calling. "I'm almost there! Don't cry!" She quickly grabbed hold of the doorknob and pushed the door open. Clutching her skirt Maeve immediately dashed into the room to locate the babe. What greeted her eyes made her pause. Before her, as tranquil as any Greek masterpiece, sat not a lonely baby, but Meredith.

"Hello, sister," Meredith said with a smile, ignorant of the screaming child in her arms. "I did not wake you, did I?"

Maeve frowned. "No… No you didn't. What about your baby? Is she hungry?" She eyed the babe with concern. The infant wailed and thrashed in response from under her blanket. Meredith simply chuckled.

"Oh, Maeve," she began. "You know just as well as I that my children cry only because they all want to be the center of attention. They'll stop when their lungs tire. Isn't that right, my precious ones?" Three other young children crowded around Meredith.

"Yes, Mama," they said together, trained soldiers saluting their general.

"See?" Meredith continued. "Don't fret over them. I've told you this a thousand times! Children are not a difficult puzzle. Though frankly, Maeve, it turned out to be a good thing that you never married and had children of your own."

With a wince, Maeve placed her hands on her hips in challenge. "Oh? And why is _that?_"

Meredith beamed at her sister. "Why, because instead of spending time in the marriage bed, like myself, you've spent your entire life being a marvelous nurse for my children! And to think that some usefulness came from your spell as a schoolteacher! Your solitude has truly been such an advantage for me."

Maeve blinked, confused. "What do you mean, 'my entire life?'" Maeve questioned shakily, her arms falling slack at her sides. Meredith smiled that horribly sweet grin again and Maeve could not fight off the tempest of self-consciousness that enveloped. "Is this a jest, Meredith?" Maeve demanded. "It is not amusing!"

Meredith slowly shook her head. "This is no joke, my sister. 'Tis only the hard reality." Now the younger sister grew solemn and even the child in her arms was silent.

"What reality?"

Meredith merely stared. "Look at your hands, my sister," she whispered. Cautiously Maeve glanced down and screamed.

Hands that were once smooth and told tales of her youth were now folded with wrinkles and peppered with calluses. Wide-eyed and mouth agape, Maeve looked up to see that Meredith had resumed that disturbingly cheerful smile.

"Isn't it wonderful?" Meredith asked. "Isn't it perfectly delightful? You spent your life caring for my children! Your life has had such a great _purpose_ for me." Her heart pounding, Maeve stumbled backwards until she hit something hard.

It was a mirror.

Maeve's lips parted in a wordless scream whilst her eyes were large with horror. Oh, merciful Lord, how had she grown so old? Red hair that had once been shiny and soft was now silvery-gray and limply framed her face. The light in her sharp green eyes had dimmed to the sea-kelp of the Atlantic. As for her face, it had become nothing more than a shriveled map of flesh.

She faced Meredith again. Suddenly absent from their conversation, her sister had not changed at all, nor had her children. They all carried the glow of youth and beauty's torch. _How could this be? _Maeve thought.

"What God-forsaken sorcery is this?" she cried, shaking her head with disbelief. "This… this is madness! Have you dabbled in witchcraft, dear sister? Have I been so poor a sibling you would wish to send me to my grave with such horrid games? This cannot be reality. It – it - it is impossible!" Now Maeve shook from head to toe. "Impossible, do you hear me? Impossible, impossible, impossible! This can't be real! This is not happening! _Impossible!_"

"Oh," Meredith purred. "But you are wrong, Maeve. Nothing is impossible. You have dealt with the horrid monsters from under the bed, haven't you? Anything can happen. And your life has been so useful." Meredith laughed coldly. "Life: a fascinating subject. So many opportunities and what a shame to waste even _a drop of it._"

A single tear slid down Maeve's cheek. She moved her thumb to catch it and upon examining her tear, she saw not a clear, watery substance but a solid, crimson drop of blood upon her thumb. And there, racing to her elbow, another one! Another and another drop slithered down her skin and festered into the ground. Maeve's lips formed a perfect oval of fright. She bled profusely yet had no cut. And bled she did as she spun about panicking. Blood came from within every inch of her flesh as it rained to the ground.

Meredith had somehow disappeared and all that remained was the echoes of a girl screaming in her own blood.

"No, no, no, _no!_"

More blood flowed down her cheeks, her knees, past her ankles and pooled at her feet. Once it met the ground, the hard earth became soft and green. Blood was the water, and Maeve was the gardener.

_Red, red, red, red._

"Please stop!" Maeve pleaded, stepping on a chair for safety.

_Red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red._

"I don't want this! Make it stop! Make it stop!"

_Red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red. So much red… _

Her blood flowed freely now. Instead of sprinkling like spring's first rainfall it fell like a lake escaping a broken dam. Now, Maeve sobbed with every beat of her trembling heart. Every inch of her body ached as if under attack from dozens of claws.

"_It is true, every life is precious; it is also true that every life has the potential to prove useful. To me,"_ a voice, cruel and icy purred.

She was feeling dizzy. The world was becoming a dark blur.

_"So useful…"_

Maeve stared at her bleeding hands. "Please, God… Mercy… I cannot handle this… I can't die like this!" She felt it. Most of her blood was gone now. She stumbled off the chair and lay crumpled, sticky, and quivering. She did not rise.

_"Useful… so useful indeed…" _

"No… Please… Someone help me…"

_"Useful…. Useful…"_

Maeve's breathing grew sharper. She felt pierced all over and her shuddering grew more violent. Her heart… her heart felt like it was shattering, never to be healed again. "Please… please…" She didn't even know to whom she was pleading anymore.

_"Useful…"_

Her funeral march would be cold, unfeeling laughter.

She shut her eyes. Then the pain increased to her head. _No, _she thought. _Firm coldness…and childish giggling?_

"Can I chuck my apple core at Miss Reilly?"

"No you may not! Don't be so mean, Seamus!" a high, girly voice protested.

"But she's sleeping! During class!"

"I can't wait to tell my brother about this. I've never seen a teacher _sleep _before! It's an odd sight, lads…" another sniggered.

More chattering.

"But I want to throw it!"

"_No,_ Seamus!"

"Ooh… Throw it! Throw it! Throw it! Throw it!" came the eager whispered chants from the left side of the room.

Maeve opened her eyes to find herself face-first on her desk. There was a slight imprint of the wood pressed onto her forehead. _It was just a horrible dream... _It had been a dark possession from Morpheus that had plagued her yet again, nothing more. She was safe. Sitting up straight quickly, she saw the entertained looks of her students. _Ex-students now,_ she thought sadly. This was her last day of teaching. Of all the days for her to fall asleep! Once she returned home for the day she would ensure she had packed all her belongings and be gone from her childhood home by tomorrow morning. Her parents had found a husband for her, a nobleman that lived alone out in the countryside for his health.

"_Most likely some ancient prissy-face that's been married three-times over already,"_ Maeve had muttered to herself upon learning the news. _He'll be some toothless, smelly, foul-tempered, old man. _She of course had no say in the matter of marrying this stranger. Her parents meant for it to happen and so it would. In fact, her mother had called the marriage a match made by God due to the perfect timing of it all. Meredith would marry the young, handsome man of her dreams and Maeve would be quietly exiled to the country to be bonded to an old toad. Furthermore, with a wedding comes a wedding night, and the consummation ceremony of a wedding night involves –

She cringed and forced back a retch. Not only did she fear _that_ with this aged stranger, it repulsed her more than the gossip concerning Felim. Oh, how she loathed what duty had always demanded of her…

Maeve stood up unsteadily, ignoring the whispers from the class, and straightened herself up. Long chunks of her hair had fallen loose from her bun and so she swept them behind her ears. "I am sorry for dozing off. Pl – please resume the lesson."

Heads bent down and scribbled away. As Maeve began to stroll around the class for inspection, the boy called Seamus whispered nervously, "Erm, Miss Reilly? You know I was only joking about throwing my apple core at you!"

Maeve smiled. Seamus had celebrated his eleventh birthday less then a fortnight ago and considered himself to be the man of the house once his father has passed on last year. "Of course, Seamus. But I'll only consider you forgiven if you dispose of your apple core properly."

---

Maeve strode hurriedly up the stone steps of the Dublin library. She had very little time left but she had to finish reading that book before she left. She arrived at the correct shelf and reached for the book when: "Oy, what's a pretty lass like you meddling with these bookshelves?"

Maeve withdrew her hand and smiled feebly. "Oh… I… Um… I am… picking up a book for my grandfather…" Maeve prayed she was convincing the librarian. It didn't appear so.

"Really?"

"Yes. He is too ill to come himself so he sent me. T – t – to help pass the time while he's in bed." _Forgive me for sinning against my God and telling false stories. But I need to do this! God must understand that a tiny lie is the price to pay for this._

The librarian pursed his abnormally thin lips and eyed Maeve crossly. "Very well. But be quick about it! This is no section of literature for young ladies."

Maeve nodded, grabbed the book and hurried past a row of occupied tables to find a secluded corner for her to read without being disturbed. She ran a hand of the smooth, frayed edges of the text and opened to the page where she had last left off.

_Nosferatu are dark creatures that hail from all cultures. They walk the earth at night, drinking the blood of others to continue their damned existence. They are His forsaken angels and possess a large arsenal of powers given to them by the devil. These demons are impossible to destroy unless you have on your person…_

Nearly two hours later, Maeve hugged her cloak close to her body. How could God allow these atrocities to exist? The horrors described in both word and picture… They were far worse than any monster her grandfather had described in her childhood fairytales. That man she spoke with in the library had been interesting though. He had a peculiar fascination with the dark creatures, going so far as to research them thoroughly and write a novel about them. He had been most helpful to her, answering all her questions in a way that did not mock her female nature. That had been a lovely change.

Grinning childishly, Maeve slowed her steps a bit. She would be reprimanded greatly for her tardiness yet again (and for such an important event), but what did that matter? The moment she stepped into the carriage that would take her away from Dublin forever, all of her past freedom, no matter how limited, would be lost to her. But then again, it was her duty and God's will that this be done, so why should she question it? _Because this isn't what I want!_ Maeve thought angrily. _But want and duty are separate things entirely. And do I really want my last few hours with my family to be filled with livid lectures of disapproval and disappointment?_

Guiltily, she walked faster. And waltzed right into something icy and solid.

"Oh!" Maeve exclaimed. It was an old crone, toothless, shriveled, and feeble. Maeve ran her fingers though her hair. "I am so sorry! I wasn't paying attention!"

"'Tis the curse of youth," the old woman replied with a leer. Maeve managed a smile.

"Really, Grandmother, I meant no offence. I promise to look where I step."

"Ah, but one cannot predict what's to come, can they? Not unless they be of witch or fey blood, and I am no Weird Sister. What be you, lass?"

"A foolish girl in a world of nightmares," Maeve mumbled, and then embarrassed, prayed the crone had not heard her. The crone cackled immediately and shook a crooked finger at the tip of Maeve's nose. "Foolish? Aye. Nightmares? Aye! But nightmares have not claimed ye. Yet. That be your choice, lass, not the nightmare's. A life for a nightmare or a nightmare's life, what say you?"

Maeve frowned, confused. "You speak in ridiculous riddles, Grandmother. I don't understand. A nightmare is not alive! That is impossible! And a woman has not but the choice to obey what her superiors command. Unfair, yes, but that is what honor and duty demands. Family is important."

The old crone said nothing. Instead she hummed an eerie, haunting tune that gave Maeve a shiver. The woman began to wobble away into a crowd, still humming.

"Wait! Explain this to me!"

The woman was nowhere in sight.

Maeve's mouth opened. The women had disappeared completely. Either she had just conversed with one of the _sídhe_, or she was hallucinating. Surely multiple _sídhe_ couldn't be so interested in her, if interest was even the correct word to call the source of her nightmares.

_Why does nothing make sense anymore?_

If only she knew that this was not even the prologue.

---

"For the love of God, Maeve, take it!"

"No! Granda, what is the matter with you? I will not take it!"

Granda held the dagger at his eye level and spat: "You must take it! I will not let my granddaughter leave this house without protection!"

Maeve recoiled from her grandfather. "I am safe!" More or less, now that she was leaving Dublin, she had nothing to fear from night creatures. Hopefully the same could be said for her family.

"No, little queen, you most certainly are not! I can feel it in my bones and the weather! Something foul is making Ireland sick!"

Maeve shook her head. "Granda, Ireland has healed from the Great Hunger. Nothing harms our country now except the English now and again." Lies.

"You listen to me, and listen good, little Maeve! After your departure to your new husband tonight I know not when I'll see ye again. There is something amiss about the land and I'll let the devil damn me a thousand times over before I let my granddaughter wander in the countryside unprotected! This knife was my first when I was a boy. It has been blessed as well."

"But Granda I do not know how to even use a – "

"You're a clever lass. You can instruct yourself should the need arise though I pray ye will not. Now hide the thing in your baggage! And tell no one of it! _No_ _one!_"

"But – "

"Maeve? Are you ready yet?" asked Catherine with a soft knock at the door. Granda seized the dagger and thrust it at the bottom of Maeve's handbag.

"Aye, lass. I was merely saying my goodbyes in private." Brian closed the distance between him and Maeve and embraced her tightly. After a moment he stepped back. "I'll leave you ladies alone."

Catherine nodded. After Brian left Catherine immediately began to babble about weddings this, duty that, and surely her husband to be would be so kind to her? And bestow wealth and security.

" - I just cannot believe that at last you will have a husband, Maeve. It always been my deepest wish – "

According to Maeve, all that good fortune would be closely followed by the violent urge to say good morrow to her breakfast on the floor come bedtime. Maeve paid her mother's words no mind. She never said anything surprising or worth hearing.

"It's truly happening.... You will leave this house and never return my little girl. Oh, Maeve!" Suddenly Maeve was thrown back with her mother's arms locked around her in a hug.

"Erm, it is all right, Mama…" Maeve began stiffly. She could not remember that last time her mother had hugged her.

"Oh – " Catherine looked Maeve in the eye. "I know we have not… not always seen the world the same way, Maeve. But – but I want you to know, I have always wanted… wanted the…"

Maeve blinked awkwardly. "Wanted - ?"

"I have always wanted the best life for you. Even if that's not what it has seemed," Catherine replied softly. "I want you to be happy and live a comfortable life. I've always wanted a fine husband for you and your sister. It's what I first thought of when you came into the world."

Maeve examined the floorboards. "I… know, Mama, and well…" She had no idea what to say. Quarrelling with her mother was so much easier than this odd intimacy.

"And I – I – " Catherine sighed. "I do love you, my daughter, truly." She straightened herself a moment later and began chattering again about wedding plans, barking orders on how to behave, and the like. Maeve barely heard her mother's words and remained silent the entire time.

Stunned from her grandfather's warnings and her mother's unexpected declaration, Maeve boarded the carriage that would take her away from her home forever in a daze. The horses were signaled, the wheels began to turn, and soon Dublin was naught but a blur.

* * *

**AN:** Yes I'm horrible for not updating for months due to many obstacles, some mental (coughwritersblockcough) and some physical. But let's move on, shall we? I hope you all liked it. What did you think of the nightmare? Was it believable? Also, I think it would help me write faster if I knew what you guys think I should write more of, less of, just right, descriptions vs dialogue, etc. Just so I know what to focus on. Concrit is always welcome.


	10. Not in Dublin Anymore

**Chapter 9: Not in Dublin Anymore**

"You are certain?"

"Oh, quite certain, _mo chara_."

"Excellent," a third voice whispered excitedly. Three pairs of eyes peered through the vibrant greenery and locked their gazes on the large and silent manor.

"The girl is there."

"The man is as predictable as Morgause was incestuous!" chuckled the first voice.

"And here we were hoping for more _imaginative_ sport," disdainfully came the third.

"But think of the marvelous games we shall play!" reminded the second.

"Indeed," the other two agreed simultaneously. They all nodded in one timed, solitary movement.

"The Lady Triad reported that the lass is everything we could hope for."

The three immortals crept closer to the slumbering domain, slithering unseen along the greenery, mated with the foliage. All the pieces were present for the start of their game, and the blood of their clans was broiling with anticipation for trickery and chaos they had not reveled in since the death of the Tudor Dynasty.

"Even better! This is a game we have played countless times before… but never with the likes of him," the first said, nodding his head in the manor's direction.

"Alas! New rules…" sighed the first.

"…But a far more satisfying prize in the long run, wouldn't you agree? Far more rewarding than our spoils from the past five centuries combined."

"Five? Oh, where doth the time fly off to?" wondered the third.

"It flies with the fanged ones – may they thank their lucky stars that time does not record on their _face!_"

The trio laughed mockingly. From the eastern gardens a suspicious grunt rumbled a warning from one of the primitive mortals that served as their master's guardians during the daylight hours. But the three entities feared nothing dead or alive, least of all these repulsive trolls that served the in-betweens. The shortest of the three concentrated beyond the region of lilies in the eastern half of the estate and within moments was rewarded with a furious squeal and the sound of shrubbery being clumsily shredded. Its guttural hissing attracted its kinsmen, filling the air with similar sounds as the creatures conversed in their own tongue.

"What a most gratifying day this is turning out to be!" exclaimed the first immortal, ignoring the ruckus. Dark, angry clouds swirled above. The trio grinned.

"But now we must return."

"Indeed. The others will want to know the delightful news!"

"Everyone will be pleased."

Rain escaped to the ground; mud ran slick across the yard, ready and waiting to cause a stumble.

The three eyed the manor with wide grins that promised such trickery for their quarry they'd make even their cousin Loki jealous. As they disappeared into the woods, the second immortal gave a triumphant whoop: "Let the games begin!"

Lightning split the sky.

---

Maeve twirled, inspecting her reflection. At first she feared she'd look ridiculous in her new gowns, like a mouse with a peacock's tail. After all, she was not but a mouse, for mice were not pleasing or useful to society and so they were exiled.

_I tried,_ she had thought angrily on the carriage ride. _I tried my best to be pretty and be what men wanted._

And now here she was, banished from all to be quietly wed to an old toad named Sir Roarke in the countryside. It was difficult to decide what fate was more humiliating: chained to a man that could be her grandfather or bound to a convent.

_Why was Granda acting so strangely before he left? And Mama, Mama is never so emotional… Such display of emotion is against everything she has ever taught me about being a woman._

After Catherine's confession, she had immediately returned to normal, bossing Maeve, fretting over her appearance, ensuring she knew precisely what would be expected of her the moment she crossed her ball and chain's threshold. It had appeared to Maeve that her mother was trying to fit in every lecture she had ever given before the carriage arrived. Once it had, her family stood together and watched her go without another word.

Maeve's eyes narrowed. She didn't want to think about that anymore.

The view from her window was lovely. Green earth stretched on for miles, interrupted only by the River Boyne. Maeve smiled. It was from Boyne that Finn MacCool had eaten the Salmon of Knowledge. Granda was not so far after all. Maeve had never seen this part of her country before, but the knowledge that was still in the realm of her birth, everything dear to her lived on this same land, was her source of familiarity. Gazing at the land, she convinced herself that all would be well. Here, as the lady of the household, she would be valued. The only authority she would answer to was to the toad.

One wall of her new room was a pedestal for many, many books. Some of them, to Maeve's discovery, were in languages she had never seen before. She knew Latin, what French looked like, and of course despite the decline of its use, her own beloved Gaelic. But as for the rest, she hadn't the slightest clue of their origins. She had never needed to know those strange languages. Certainly no one spoke them here in Ireland. She shook her head. Back to those pretty dresses.

She could not help but wonder if it was sinful to adore such petty gifts. They certainly did not erase the pain of leaving, but Maeve came from a childhood where grand presents were scarce. Coddling children was not tolerated. She would reserve her anger for later when she needed strength for the toad. Maeve continued to look over the outfits and matching jewelry. There were so many dresses of different colors and designs! There was only one dress that made Maeve frown.

"_Pink?" _Maeve stared incredulously at the gown. Surely her appearance had been described to her husband to be. Red hair, particularly her mop of red hair, did not clash well with the color pink. Maeve rolled her eyes. A suitor once sent Meredith a pink dress with the hair ribbons to match. The color on her sister had made her look… less than sane and strangely wild. Men. Only a man would choose such a disastrous outfit. Who else would put a redhead in a pink garment? Maeve chuckled. No matter. She selected a green, silky outfit, complimenting it with a beautiful emerald pendent at her throat.

She would make the right choices this time. She would make her family proud. Maybe she and the toad could be friends… Or maybe she'd hope God would call him to Heaven so she would not be married to him any longer.

A loud, impatient knock interrupted Maeve's thoughts. "Come in!" Maeve called over her shoulder, brushing her hair into a loose braid. The door was slowly pushed open. A young woman, not much older than Maeve, entered, balancing a tray full of food on one hand while the other held the doorknob.

"Oh, thank you," Maeve said, her completed braid ending between her shoulder blades. The woman said nothing, cautiously easing the tray onto the table near the middle of the room.

"I've gotten so hungry and I have no idea where the kitchen is," Maeve continued lightly. Still there was no reply and when Maeve turned around, the woman was already halfway out the door. "Wait! It's rather rude to ignore someone when they are talking to you!" Maeve indignantly put her hands on her hips. The woman paused, but did not turn around. "Won't you at least look at me while I talk to you?"

The woman snorted. "I care not if I'm rude to _you!_ There is your breakfast. Do what you wish with it. I have better ways to spend my time than attend to you!" She continued through the doorway.

Maeve wrinkled her nose. "Oh well isn't this unexpected! An _English_ servant in the home of an Irishmen! Ha!" If that wasn't a small piece of justice after everything England had put Ireland through Maeve did not know what was.

The woman whipped around, lips curled in rage. She had dark, nearly black bushy hair that fell over her face like a Muslim veil. "I am not your servant you Irish cow! I brought you food as a favor to the master of the house, not to you! Don't mistake it as such!"

"Well I didn't, so don't fret, English swine!"

"That's a clever insult! Did you think that up all by yourself, hmm?"

"How dare you!" Maeve hissed, stepping forward. That stupid English woman wouldn't even look her in the eye. She stayed just out of Maeve's line of sight and looked past her. And with her hair shrouding her face what sort of look was she going for anyway? She would show that English _amadán_ who was superior!

"What is the matter? Did you get sent away to Ireland to be a servant because you were worthless at court?"

The other woman ground her teeth. "Do you think yourself important, hmm? Do you think yourself the lady of the house, and that you mean anything, anything to the world? You – You are an Irish nobody! You are _dirt!_"

"Oh yes, we Irishmen are the dirt," Maeve replied sharply. "We Irishmen are connected with the earth! Try as you Englishmen might, we always come back! You can't stamp the life out of us and we will become a country free of you English dogs!"

"Weeds! Weeds are what you are! All you Irish and your stories of faeries and magic make you superstitious fools! You Irish are not a civilized people!"

"If my people are not civilized, then what does that make the English girl that serves in an Irish home?" Maeve's hands shook at her sides.

The English woman shrieked and moved forward quickly, fumbling her hand on the table in her way for balance, startling the tray of Maeve's breakfast. It tumbled to the floor in a crash of glass and porcelain. There was silence for one moment.

"You did that on purpose!" Maeve yelled, her stomach lurching at her ribs in agreement.

"I did _not!_"

"You did and you know it! Pick it up!"

"Ha! Not on your life, cow. Pick the mess up yourself!" The English woman lifted her skirt, turned on her heel and headed out the door, but not before stomping in Maeve's food. "That food smells delicious! Enjoy it!"

Maeve gawked at the remnants of her would-be meal. Civilized, indeed! "You are going to regret that! How am I supposed to eat now?"

"That is not my concern, Reilly. If you need anything, do not ask me!"

"I would not ask for your aid for anything if my life depended on it!" Maeve fumed and started after the dark-haired woman. At least there was some butter stuck to the woman's shoe. _Serves her right, the daft English woman!_

"Brilliant. I do hope that last bit occurs soon!" She went to shut the door but at the last second added, "Oh and be a good little Irish twit and stay in your quarters. You will be summoned when you are wanted, and no one wants you getting in the way!" The door slammed.

"I am not in the way!" the redhead shrieked. "And for another thing -" Maeve whipped the door open. "– I will not clean up this mess you made and I will not just sit here and –" Maeve blinked and looked up and down the hallway. That nasty English woman was nowhere to be seen. _What? Where did she go? She could not have just disappeared into thin air…Could she? No. She didn't seem Otherworldly. She's just some horrible woman from England._ Maeve sniffed. It didn't matter where the woman had gone. She was nowhere in sight and there was still the mess of Maeve's breakfast to take care of.

She was not cleaning that up.

At this moment Maeve didn't care that that was not the right thing to do and most certainly not how she had been raised. There was nothing around to pick up the mess or to even dispose of it anyway. She sighed with annoyance. She would not clean it up, but she would cover it up and ensure it was all in one spot. That task completed, she slipped out the – _her,_ she reminded herself – door. She was on a quest for the kitchen. Trying every door in that corridor she came across, Maeve found them all to be locked. She chewed her lip irritably. So much for exploring while she searched for food – where were other servants? Her stomach mourned the loss of eggs, fried potatoes, and toast quite loudly. That English prat couldn't be the only soul in this place. There must be someone around to point her in the kitchen's direction. Maeve walked over to a window and gazed at the storm reigning outside. There were no doors there to keep her out.

---

"Is that an enjoyable book, Miss Reilly?"

Maeve froze, eyes widening and the palms of her hands grew sweaty. She knew that voice. She would never forget it. _No. Oh no. _She dropped her poetry book, stood up and whirled towards the voice. That was when the lights went out. She'd explored every room she could access, discovered the kitchen and had happily claimed the sunroom as her roost while she waited for Sir Roarke to make his appearance. All day she had read and explored to pass the time, ignoring her anxiety. The manor was huge. She did not know how she'd ever find her way back to her room without guidance. Now Maeve blinked several times as she struggled to adjust to the sudden darkness.

"And might I add that that dress suits you wonderfully. Though perhaps next time you should try the red gown."

_What is _he_ doing here? He followed me from Dublin! What does he want? I was right. Whatever this is, I am involved. _Maeve paused as that realization struck home. _I _am_ involved. And with no other help this is up to me! …Oh Lord. My betrothed!_

Maeve addressed the dark void the sunroom had become. "What are you doing here, diabhal? You are trespassing! Haven't you anything better to do than haunt me?"

A dark chuckle echoed, giving no hint as to where the chilling sound had originated. "I live here, Miss Reilly. If anyone has intruded it is you, not I."

"Liar!" Maeve cried. "Where is Sir Roarke?"

Dracula feigned puzzlement. "I have never met a man of that name before. Do tell me about him, Miss Reilly."

"As if you did not know! He is my betrothed. My parents arranged my marriage to him less than a fortnight. What have you done to him?" _Oh I did not wish to marry him… But if I caused his death… Oh God, I didn't mean what I said earlier! I didn't mean it!_

"Such passion you have for a man you have not even met," Dracula mused. "Is your heart so easily won? Perhaps I should have confronted you weeks ago. I could teach you much about passion… and where to direct it." He smirked. Pity the girl could not see him. He'd heard tales from his confidants that women loved his smirk.

"You killed him, didn't you? Didn't you! You killed him like you killed Felim!"

Dracula casually leaned against the divan Maeve had previously occupied. "Foolish girl. Your parents sold you. They sold you to _me. _There never was a 'Sir Roarke.' I desire your company. Your parents desired your departure. It is a perfect match, is it not, my sweet fairy?"

Maeve whipped around. "You – You are lying!" He is lying. He must be. He's evil and from the Otherworld. _He's lying…_

"Am I now? Why would I lie? How would it benefit me to lie about such things, Miss Reilly? Do tell." The count slowly circled the room, watching the mortal from every angle. This was going to be highly entertaining.

"My parents love me! They didn't want me to leave! Meredith is getting married. She is younger. I have to be – "

"– Taken care of," Dracula finished coolly. "You are the sore thumb, my dear. Your family cares more for society's laws then they do their eldest daughter. Parents, unfortunately, find that surrendering their child is much more preferable than outward resistance to the world."

"That isn't true!" protested Maeve. There may not be a Sir Roarke, but now she could at least return to Dublin - where she was unwedded. That did not matter! She would explain everything to Granda. He would understand. She had no more obligations here. She could be free. She must be, now. "I do not believe you!"

"No? Then tell me, why are you here in my humble home? I will tell you. Your delightful parents willed it, and now it is so!"

"No! I refuse to hear your lies another moment! I am going home!" Maeve furiously groped for the door. _Escape…Escape…Escape!_

The count laughed coldly, giving Maeve even more gooseflesh. Those eyes of pristine ice did not help matters.

"Oh my sweet, innocent pet, you are mine, now. Your parents made you mine, handing you over to make way for your sister's happiness! You think you are better off there where you will always settle for half? Go. That is your curse. I will not keep you here against your will. I offer you an escape from all that supposed 'civilization' where you are naught but a thing to be chained and used as the law decrees. Yet despite my generosity –" Dracula hissed dangerously. "- You weep in denial and at your own unfair lot in life. The world stops for no one. Spare me your tears, Miss Reilly, for I have no patience for them. Besides, they ugly your face. But know this my pretty one, I am not a cruel man unless you make so, no – I think you will find your time here much more… enlightening then your life before."

Maeve found the exit, her heart throbbing in her ears. "No! I will not stay with a murderer! You killed Felim and who knows how many others! I will not stay to be next!" Without another word, Maeve staggered through the door, running as fast as her legs could carry her. Oh to be fleet-footed Hermes this night! Maeve turned down the corridor that would lead to her room. She paused. Or was it that one? _No, it must be that one…Oh dear._ Chest heaving, Maeve took off again. Down the staircase she went, fearing she would trip in the darkness. Every lantern was dark, but recently doused; smoke still clung to the wick. Like she did as a child, Maeve skipped over the last eight steps, landing clumsily on her feet, still running. There, the front doors! She only had a few feet to go! Escape and freedom, that was all that mattered.

"Oof!" Maeve groaned and lifted her face from the floor. Where had that chair come from? She stood up and seized the doorknobs with both hands. The doors would not budge. "No, no, no!" Maeve tugged and pushed. The doors showed no pity. Maeve slid down the door so she rested on her knees. Using the palm of her hand she hit the door.

"Have you surrendered so soon, Miss Reilly? Hmm. It appears that I overestimated you. I expected more of a challenge. What a pity."

Maeve jumped up. Again she did not know where his voice came from, but he was there, somewhere, behind the table, by those paintings she passed, on the stairs… The mortal took a step forward, and glared into the dark pit before her. She heard that eerie chuckle again. She never knew laughter could be so chilling.

"Ah," Dracula purred. "So the rabbit would face the fox. Interesting." He was close, so very close to her. Maeve could feel it. There, not ten feet from her, the center of the darkness became a swirl of mist.

"My hospitality is not a thing to sneer at, Miss Reilly. Take note that in the future I do not tolerate such behavior." His hiss was fire on water.

Maeve tried to swallow but it did not ease her dry throat. "Come to finish a conversation or will you just kill me, diabhal?"

Dracula's lips slightly curled as he shook his head. "Such a closed mind. Such limits you shackle yourself with, Miss Reilly. Might I have the key? What I could show you… Oh my dear, nothing can compare."

"Are you daft?" Maeve spat. "You cling to the darkness. You deal in lies and death. There is nothing you can show me, evil creature!"

"Oh come now. Allow me to return you to your room – is it satisfactory?"

Maeve shot him daggers. "I am not going anywhere with you."

"There is no need for this unpleasantness," he said sweetly. "Did you enjoy the book you were reading earlier?"

Maeve ignored him. "Open the doors."

Dracula's attempt at good humor began to slip. He'd already had a very trying week between vampire complaints and warnings from his dear father. This mortal's stubbornness could not be more ill-timed.

"Let us go someplace better equipped for a conversation and discuss today's…events."

"No."

Dracula tried another tactic. "Do you like your new dresses and jewelry? That pendant matches your eyes, magnificently."

Maeve could not swallow. Her necklace now felt more like a hangman's noose.

"I assure you no harm will – "

"I certainly do not believe that! Do you think me so foolish? I hate you!" _And I hate that all I can see of you are your eyes. What sort of creature only showed his eyes? Though those sapphire eyes are…beautiful…Hmm. They reflect his mood swings well enough. I'll never keep up with them._

Dracula didn't flinch. "Really?" he asked emotionlessly. "Do elaborate."

"I'm not repeating myself from our last chat," Maeve snapped. "But you killed – "

"Oh, not this again!" He massaged his temple with his thumb and forefinger. He did not have time for this. Not to mention accusations of who he killed or did not kill had grown very boring through the centuries. Mortals. Pah. "Such an obsession over this boy, Felim. You insult me. Allow me to assuage you, my dear." Dracula turned from Maeve's gaze and called: "Felim, oh Felim. Be a good lad and come welcome your friend, Miss Reilly."

* * *

**AN: **Man it feels good to update again. My muse was like a dying flashlight. It'd be fine, flicker, hit it against the wall, it flickers again, then dies, then flickers. Anyway, I promise the next chapter will be up sooner than this update was! Pinky swear. lol. Now, the chapter. My, my, doesn't Maeve like to make new friends? Tsk tsk. Not to worry, readers. By the end of this story Maeve will have gone through some pretty big changes.

Ok here's my update, now let me know how it was! What was good/bad, what do you want to see more of, did I miss any typos? (I could check and check until my eyes bleed but there's always one that gets under the radar.) What do you think of this chapter's developments? Oh and who saw Maeve moving in with Dracula as his supposed wife to be coming? I hope I didn't draw that out for anyone who did see it coming. Until next time!


	11. Better of Two Evils

**Chapter 10: Better of Two Evils **

_Won't you shake a poor sinner's hand?  
…You got what you wanted, but you lost what you had._

-Dr. Facilier, "Friends on the Other Side," The Princess and the Frog

---

"Oh, just let it go, Antonio!"

"I will not! Honestly, Margarita," Antonio shot the English woman an infuriated glance. "You are going to make things far more difficult for the master and you know what that will mean for all of us."

"Lord Dracula can handle himself. I refuse to be degraded by some Irish twit!"

"Margarita," The Spaniard hissed. "You are not being degraded – or replaced."

"I should hope not," Margaret spat. "Not after my generosity. This is still my house!"

"I understand, Margarita." Antonio massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Again, I speak for the master when I offer eternal gratitude and appreciation for allowing us asylum in your home." Indeed, the night Antonio had been sent ahead to secure a household for the Count, he had come across this dark-haired woman sitting alone in the gardens. She invited him in – aware his race - for a price.

_-  
Two months ago, early evening  
-_

"Then it is agreed?" The girl eagerly thrust her hand into the air between herself and the man that would in mere moments, satisfy one of her fondest dreams.

Antonio nodded. "_Sí. _All will be taken care of. My master will arrive shortly. He will be most pleased with you, _Señorita. _Then I will see to it that your further requests are fulfilled." He plucked Margaret's hand from the air and shook it, a confident grin engraved on his lips.

"Wonderful," Margaret breathed. A few rooms down, she heard an irritated male voice howl her name. "Father!" she answered. "I'm in the boudoir!"

"Well, what the blazes are you doing in there, girl? I've been searching this house from top to bottom – I even checked the bench by those stupid flowers of yours!" Lord Marcus Dudley kicked the door open and limped in, his cane scuffling like a hummingbird.

"Hello, Father," Margaret said coolly.

"Don't 'hello, Father,' me, Margaret! You put something in my mead again, didn't you? Didn't you! "

Margaret wrinkled her nose at the spittle. The reek of alcohol was strong. He was not drunk, but he planned to be. "Now, why would you accuse me of a thing like that?"

"So you could fiddle around with those stupid plants of yours and leave me defenseless!"

Margaret would have rolled her eyes if she could. Her father had been a strong and loyal subject in Queen Victoria's court. After being stationed in India for a brief period, he'd been given lordship over land in Ireland before she had been born. Marcus made further use of this power and strength with the Irish Home Rule problem. It was his drinking that crippled him after Mother had sickened and died. With one love in the ground, he took up another to soothe his inability to deal with disappointment.

And Margaret had always been his favorite disappointment.

_They're herbs,_ she thought bitterly. _And beautiful flowers, unlike me. _Honestly, her looks had never mattered much to her. But she had never had a suitor. Her father didn't share her existence with the world, not since she was a child. So here at home she stayed, serving her father for some flawed and hated notion of worth.

"Only the saints know why I'm cursed with _you_ for a daughter! My whole life I've worked hard and been loyal to the Queen, and I get nothing out of it!" Marcus panted, and clutched his chest with his free hand, sputtering as he did so.

"It looks like you are not as _useful _as you think_,_ Father. No wonder Mother stopped loving you," Margaret sneered. It was time.

Marcus' eyes narrowed, trembling like an angry viper. "You ungrateful witch!" He loomed over his daughter and raised his cane in the air like a club. "I'll teach you to speak to me in that manner!" He swung at Margaret's head but she was still, unmoved by the danger at hand. The cane was within an inch of Margaret's skull when a pale hand shot out of the shadows of the table lamp, wrenched the cane away, and broke it in two.

"That," Antonio hissed, his face contorted with a vampire's fury, "is not the proper way to discipline your daughter, Lord Dudley." But then Antonio grinned, his eyes harboring a secret. "Or should I say, _former,_ Lord?"

The vengeful expression dropped from Marcus' face like a stone and was replaced with shock. "What is this?" he spat. He puffed himself up and snarled, "Who is this stranger you brought in, Margaret? Has the little shrew become a slut?"

Antonio's brown eyes flashed red. "It is not nice to call names."

Marcus saw the wicked miracle. The blood fled his face, cowering from a predator it had no name for but knew by instinct that danger was all too near. "Margaret," Marcus whispered, stunned and terrified. "What did you bring into the house?" His back felt the solidity of the merciless wall before he had even realized that he was being hunted.

"Do you remember when Mother used to read to me aloud?" Margaret asked icily. Her hand rested on the arm of her mother's rocking chair. She slowly sank into the chair and softly pushed off the floor. "She once told me the story of Faust."

"Isolde _would_ read you that one," he murmured, momentarily forgetting the demon in his house.

"Faust fell from grace for his desires. I, on the other hand, will not." Margaret smiled. "I will rise. I will get everything I want."

"And what price will you pay, hmm? What is it you want?"

The dreamy smile melted and a hideous smirk took its place. "You're about to find out, _Father._" She continued to rock evenly back and forth.

Antonio appeared inches from Marcus' nose. His smile was kind but his eyes were pools of trickery. "This is nothing personal, Former Lord Dudley." Marcus could not stop his coughing fit if it would have saved his life. "Margaret," he wheezed. "Margaret!" His screams became strangled cries as Antonio hoisted him into the air by his shoulders and teeth ripped into his neck.

"Pah!" Antonio spat. "Margarita, how much does your padre drink?" He spat again. "He was dying long before I arrived." He licked his lips, swallowed, and returned to feeding on Marcus Dudley.

"Margaret… Margaret…" Marcus groaned. It was so dark. And his head ached. How could his daughter have made such a deal? His daughter had asked for the devil's help and in the end, she would go home with him, too. "Jezebel! What have you done? _What have you done?_" The lamp burnt out, its wick expired, and so did Lord Marcus Dudley.

For the first time in years, Margaret felt true satisfaction. She never stopped smiling even as her father's screams faded into nothing.

But now she did not smile. Now, two months later, she had an argument to win.

"Control myself? You should have seen our Irish _guest_. She lost her temper, not I."

"Really?" asked Antonio. "And if I were to ask Señorita Reilly, would she agree with you?"

Margaret pursed her lips, her shoulders falling slack. "Of course, you would side with her," she whispered, facing the window.

"Oh, no, no, no, I do not side with her. I side with the master, and in order for his plans to succeed Señorita Reilly must feel at home here! Lord Dracula told us himself. Remember?" He placed a reassuring hand on Margaret's shoulder, slowly drawing her to face him. Margaret sighed.

"I remember."

"Good. Now cheer up. You have the face of a – eh – bitter pussycat."

Margaret laughed softly. "You mean sour puss, Antonio."

"That is what I said, wasn't it?"

"Antonio…"

"Do not fret, Margarita. The master's plans will succeed and all will be well. You will see."

Margaret inhaled abruptly. "Listen, Antonio. About –" She paused, " - the other night. What happened with Lord Dracula did – "

"Ah, there you are." Dracula strolled into the billiard room with a confident grin framing his lips. "Lady Margaret," he drawled and placed a chaste kiss on her hand.

"My lord," she responded. She smiled lightly. Here was the second man in her life to call her beautiful. Dracula turned to the Spaniard.

"Antonio, has there been any progress?" With Miss Reilly and her distrust of him presently assuaged by Felim, he could now focus on other important matters.

Antonio shook his head. "No, master. But perhaps after he has finished conversing with Miss Reilly we can try again? The cauldron will not – "

"Antonio, will you first see Lady Margaret to her room? She looks exhausted."

"Of course, master." Without a blink of an eye Antonio was at Margaret's side again.

"I can find my way," she said curtly. "I grew up in this house. I'll leave you to your plans." _I'm still important. I'm still important. I don't need to know everything to know_ that.

"Good night, my dear." _Perhaps I said that with too much … bite,_ Dracula mused after seeing Margaret frown. He needed Margaret Dudley happy, just as he needed Maeve Reilly happy. _Oh well. I'll erase any of her annoyance with me later._

"Good night, Lord Dracula." Margaret opened the door and stepped through the doorway. "Good night, Antonio," she called over her shoulder. Antonio replied with an unseen smile and shut the door. Once her heartbeat could be heard near the staircase, Dracula turned to his servant.

"Now, tell me of progress." The count stared expectantly with his arms folded behind his back.

Antonio nodded. "Of course, master. As I said, I have every assurance that Dagda's cauldron will be the first step towards your success. The fledglings know how to feed themselves. They now only require limited supervision."

"Good. Success is far, but at hand. And there are no weak links to tease the Vatican's hounds with their scent." Dracula wandered over to the table in the center of the room. He'd have it all: the trust and blood of an innocent girl, the keys to his freedom, and limitless magical power. World domination occurred somewhere along that path. He had his work cut out for him to be certain. But he had a pawn for every place on the board. Miss Reilly, of course, was crucial, but he had Margaret for her experience with those damn Faeries, among other things. His smirk deepened. Oh yes, the women close to him were most helpful. _Two lovely puppets, one for each hand. _However, all things concerned, the pretty little fairy, Miss Reilly, would prove to be a very interesting experiment. Simple, but interesting, and he win her over in the end. He harbored no doubts. Dracula lazily set his hands on the table and picked up the cue. Nothing more could be done tonight, so why not have a little fun? He had time.

"Care for a game of snooker, Antonio?"

* * *

**AN:** _Information regarding this chapter: _Dagda= Powerful Fae dude. Not the sharpest crayon in the box, but powerful. Isolde, Margaret's mother's name, is pronounced _Izolda_. Also, I know that Marcus is a very popular name, especially in vampire genre, (Underworld's got one, for example) but I chose the name for two reasons: 1) Whenever I thought about him, Marcus always came to mind no matter how many names I tried for him. 2) Marcus is another form of the name, Mark, that along with Isolde, is a reference to a couple in Arthurian mythology.

Margaret's last name is not a reference to the Dudley in Harry Potter. It isn't. Yes I know she and Maeve are not buddies so it would be very easy to make that connection. When writing about Margaret and outlining her importance to the story, Dudley just sounded right and when characters tell you what their names are, you don't ignore them. :) Also it's a popular British name and there's a historical figure with the last name Dudley that Margaret is related to: Anne Dudley Bradstreet. Any other questions, comments, concerns, let me know.

I'm sorry for the shortness of this chapter. I cut it in half so the focus was on the villains/minions. Next time, we'll see what's up with Maeve. Funny how Dracula can be both antagonist/protagonist's love interest. He's got wicked skills. ;)


	12. The Bridge Part 1

**AN:** No, your eyes don't deceive you. It's an update. And rather than explain myself in a long rant as to why I haven't updated until today just know that rewrites are the spawn of evil. They can go on forever. Well, for those of you amazing people still with me, enjoy the chapter! :)

* * *

**Chapter 11: The Bridge - Part 1**

_Foul whisp'rings are abroad._

-William Shakespeare

* * *

Brian Reilly opened the morning paper with a grimace. A strange epidemic had washed over his city like the Plagues of Egypt. Unexplainable blood loss, disoriented patients, and loved ones reported missing were just the beginning. If the Good People didn't intervene and put an end to this powder keg, then he'd – Brian sighed. He'd almost forgotten that he was old. What was he going to do, beat them up with his cane 'round the knees?

Looking up from his paper, he watched disdainfully as his daughter cooed over Meredith and her fiancé. He shook his head. Poor Catherine, she didn't even see the glamour and realize that Meredith's young, handsome, and fabulously wealthy suitor was a fairy in disguise. Catherine wanted the picture perfect life so ferociously. _At least they treat their consorts well – very well._ A ghost of a smile curved his lips as he looked back to the newspaper. Confrontations were best made later in the day. And after a few drinks.

* * *

Maeve considered herself rather knowledgeable, especially when compared to her sister. One thing she knew for certain: it was very dangerous to linger in a fairy dwelling, especially at night. That had been one of the very first things Granda had ever taught her about the Good People. If she wanted her freedom, she had to leave the count's manor now, before it was too late.

She wished she'd never taken that walk that started this whole mess. If she had just stayed in bed that night _properly,_ she would be at home with Granda this very moment, safe. She'd teach her students, quarrel with Meredith, and ignore her mother's blatant marriage hints. Maeve frowned gloomily, walking farther and farther from that accursed manor. _Really, they're not_ hints _at all. _A clumsy stumble over a stray stone furthered her dark mood. Here she was, alone, most of her belongings surrendered save for what she stashed in her handbag, trudging back to Dublin. She'd almost forgotten that Ireland had rules about staying too long in a fairy's nest; she'd already spent one night in Dracula's manor. Therefore, she'd begun her escape shortly after breakfast, determined to resume her old – no, her _real_ – life at home in Dublin where she belonged, with her family, and also where she was as free as she could ever be.

That was what she told herself, anyway.

Fearful of detection, Maeve had ducked under hedges to avoid Dracula's servants: these strange, disgusting creatures clad in black with large goggles on their heads, and made a break for the front gate immediately. Her back would cease to ache momentarily from her bent position and so all that really mattered was that by nightfall she'd be far from that Count Dracula and her traitorous friend. Maeve glared at the ground. _How dare Felim side with the diabhal?_

She kicked a rock shaped like a head. _The Count's head_, Maeve decided with a grin, _though I haven't the slimmest idea what his face looks like…_

That was very peculiar. Why had she never seen his face? It couldn't be a symptom of Nosferatu, could it? _No, I've seen at least two of those nasty beasties, so it has nothing to do with that. Hmm…must be he's horribly deformed in the face, or just very terrifying, like an ogre. _

Maeve kicked the rock again, sending it rolling a few feet in front of her. "Why, Felim?" she whispered aloud. "How could you think that this Count Dracula is a wonderful employer?" She'd hugged him when he entered the room and hadn't wanted to ever let him go. All those weeks… she'd thought her friend was dead, and then that Count Dracula had implied that something far worse had occurred. And all because she did not know how to help her friend that night he'd been taken. How could she have known how to deal with a myth? _A terrifying myth, _she thought with a shiver. And when she'd encountered the Count last night she'd felt a harsh, penetrating gaze spear through her, as if he were thoroughly examining her – all of her. Her face flushed uncomfortably hot at the memory. She walked a little faster.

Believing that creatures of the Otherworld were real and confirming that belief face to face were two things entirely. The most proof she'd ever had that the Good People were truly her neighbors was when she'd been a child and left a saucer of cream on her windowsill. In the morning, the treat had vanished.

"_Mama! Mama, look!" young Maeve cried, running as fast as her eight year-old legs could carry her. Panting when she reached her mother, she shoved an empty bowl in Catherine's face. Catherine was unimpressed. _

"_It's a bowl," she said, "a _dirty_ bowl." Maeve nodded eagerly._

"_It is!" she exclaimed. "I left it out with our leftovers from supper last night for the faeries! They came to _our_ home!" Catherine stilled. "Maeve, don't you ever, ever try to catch the faeries' attention! They do nothing but make our lives more difficult! Do you understand?"_

_Maeve frowned. "But Mama, they – "_

_Catherine stood up in a flash. "No excuses! Do not waste our food on _them!_ Do you want to endanger our family?"_

_Maeve's lip trembled. She hung her head low and shook it. "No."_

_Catherine relaxed and allowed a soft smile to show. "Good girl. Now run along and wash that bowl." She dismissed her daughter with an affectionate pat on the head. Barely seconds after Maeve washed the bowl she ran to Brian. _

"_There, don't cry, little queen," Granda shushed. He rocked her slowly on his knee. _

"_I ... I don't want to hurt anybody," she sniffed. _

"_I know. You weren't hurtin' anyone, lass. You've made some friends with your kind gesture, you did!"_

"_Friends?" Maeve echoed, sitting up. She didn't have many friends. Most girls didn't like to play games in the mud and boys didn't want to be seen with a _girl. _She'd play with her brothers but they'd been sent away to some special school or something. She couldn't remember. "You really think so?" she asked Granda._

"_I know so. Faeries have long memories and they adore thoughtful gifts." _

To this day Maeve remembered Granda telling her how faeries loved presents. Furthermore, if they liked you, they were good to you. If they didn't, life would be very miserable for you, indeed.

Her visit to the library the day she had been exiled to 'Sir Roarke's' care hadn't taught her much about this unknown Otherworld race. There was little to be found about them. That was frustrating, even more so that her newfound knowledge didn't matter. Felim was safe and happy. Who was she to question her friend's decision? _Even if he has abandoned his family and chosen to be with the Good People, I suppose I cannot really blame him,_ Maeve admitted. The fairies had many delights to offer. Though deep within her heart, she was envious of the freedom Felim now possessed, what he had chosen. She would never admit it.

Maeve had concluded one thing in her research. An _Abhartach,_ an elfin blood drinker, plain and oafish, resembling corpses, made the Nosferatu familiar to her. So that meant that Nosferatu – vampires- and Abhartachs are relatives, if not the same creature. _From now on,_ Maeve decided, _I will call them vampires, as they are called in the books I found. That word is less frightening for a group of creatures related to the Good People, anyway. _Maeve took a moment to ponder this. To survive on blood alone…was awful, to say the least. Maeve herself could never do it, but just because she disagreed, did that mean that it was all wrong? Granda had told her to keep an open mind, and in this case, she didn't want to. But there were plenty of things in life that she didn't like but had to accept, so perhaps this was one of them? _Banshees after all are a helpful sort of death fairy. True, they brought about sorrow, but at least a family had warning before a loved one left them for Heaven, _she thought. So as always with the fairies, things are not in black and white. They may be frightening, but that didn't always call for hatred. Truthfully, Maeve was fascinated by these creatures – what exactly were they? They were unfamiliar, but new and exciting. She was curious.

Even so, she would continue on her way home. She wanted nothing more to do with that Count Dracula. She had closure that Felim was safe and so her guilt was lifted by his free will. _Funny,_ thought Maeve. _It certainly hadn't looked like Felim had gone with the Count willingly. But Felim was right. I was tired and scared that night so… I guess that settles that._ Maeve inhaled deeply; she knew there would be consequences, horrific consequences from her mother. But she trusted Granda. She would at last tell Granda everything, and then her world would be all right.

She had to believe that. Maeve exhaled.

She would never have to worry about vampires. No one had ever taken her seriously or held her responsible for the changes in her life – good or bad. But Granda would take care of everything, just as he always had. He was respected. Furthermore, he had always respected her. She felt horribly for not sharing her encounters with the fairies with him before. She should have. Maeve couldn't change the past, but she could affect her future. "I have the power to do that," she whispered, passing a small henhouse, the chit-chattering providing a light-hearted, amusing distraction from her thoughts. She looked for the horse and carriage that had brought her here, but neither one was in sight. She was definitely walking, but that wasn't too bad. She'd walked everywhere in Dublin at all hours of night or day. It made Maeve feel the most comfortable when she traveled on her own two feet rather than allowing a carriage to do all the work. _Walking home should be simple. I can do that._

Again, Maeve inhaled deeply, this time welcoming the fresh air scent, and the pure aura that resonated from the land around her. _Yes,_ she thought. _This is paradise. There is just land without fences. No chaperones. No one controls me here in the countryside. Everyone but Granda did at home, and now that strange Count has tried to as well. Even worse, Felim has joined his ranks! All he did last night was sing the Count's praises like a nightingale! Preaching lies that he provides freedom and escape! _Maeve swallowed hard. _But it isn't true. I won't believe it. Dracula cannot control me, not now as I leave his house on my own two feet! Dracula and Felim's choices are not mine!_

A low moo from the right startled Maeve. She tripped over a loose stone hidden by grass, and fell forward. She composed herself quickly and stood up straight turning in the sound's direction. There, not twenty feet from her, stood a cow.

Maeve blinked and cleared her throat. It was eerie the way it seemed to be…truly staring at her. "Hello, there," she said. It was very beautiful, for a cow. _A bit too clean,_ thought Maeve. _They're such lovely, gentle animals._ A city girl, a life and everything involved with it in Ireland's countryside seemed wonderful. The cow mooed again. A flash of sun peaked from behind a cloud, causing Maeve to fling her hand to her eyes for shelter. When she looked again, the cow had disappeared. Her eyes widened.

"Where on God's green earth did that cow just – "

"_All grown up now isn't she?"_

"_More or less. She isn't behavin' so mature a colleen, now, is she?"_

"_Ooh, what does she think she's doin'?" _

Maeve froze. They were referring to her. She could feel it. "Who is there?" she called. Her only response was a long string of garbled words she couldn't understand, the creatures were talking so fast. Maeve strained her ears and took a step closer, realizing that the creatures were speaking in Gaelic.

"_This wasn't part o' the plan, was it?"_

"_It may not be part o' the plan, but the Morrígan will love this!" _There was a quick rustling in the grass a few yards from Maeve. She took a step back, her heart pounding. Were these faeries? True Fey – not these new vampires – but faeries like the ones she had grown up learning about? A delighted smile lit up Maeve's face. _The Good People! Just like in the stories! _She'd heard of the Morrígan before. She was a triple goddess and also known as the Phantom Queen. _What does she have to do with me?_ Maeve's smile dropped like a stone in water. What if these faeries meant her harm? Her heart thudded. _Relax, just relax. Don't anger them and I'll be fine. Granda did not raise a fool! _There was scurrying to her left. Maeve licked her lips. _Don't be afraid,_ she thought to herself.

"Excuse me," she called. "But would one of you be so kind as to show yourself?"

"Sorry, missy," came the reply. "But we're under orders, we are."

"Orders?" Maeve echoed, stepping closer. "Whose orders?"

Amused cackling overwhelmed Maeve's ears, making her wince.

"Daft little girl! Whose orders do ye think? You overheard us, didn't ye?" The faerie duo laughed again. Maeve, however, refrained from scowling. She disliked being mocked almost as much as she loathed hearing her intelligence insulted. She took a deep breath.

"The Morrígan?" she guessed.

"Ooh, she _is _a smart one! Well done, lass!"

"What does the Morrígan have to do with me?" Maeve's fear was completely replaced with curiosity.

"Everything," answered one of the faeries. The laughter had gone in his voice.

"And nothing," added the other, this time with a sly chuckle.

Maeve shook her head and chuckled herself. She needed a laugh. And here she'd been so afraid. "Might I ask for your names?"

"Aye, you could ask. And we might answer ye."

"Well, I _am_ asking ye."

Laughter like the tinkling of tiny bells attacked her ears again.

"I am Daire," said the fairy with the kinder voice.

"And I, the better looking let me say, am Robin. I'd prove it to ye, but well…"

"You're under orders. I've heard." The wind whistled through the grass making it appear as if a snake were passing by on a quest. "My name is – "

"We know who ye are," Daire reminded her. Maeve flushed.

"Oh, of course. I forgot." The Fair Folk knew everything.

"Be careful o' forgetting things, Maeve Reilly. Forgetful mortals don't last long."

"Aye," agreed Robin, "and we want you to last a while. You have great potential, mortal girl."

Maeve felt a mixture of surprise and pride rush over her. "I do?"

Robin and Daire glanced at each other from the cover of the bushes and grinned. _Hook and line,"_ thought Daire to his companion. _Sinker,_ agreed Robin.

"O' course ye do," Daire replied. "You've survived your encounters all by your lonesome self, haven't ye?"

Maeve couldn't help but nod. She _had. _Her sister never could have accomplished that. As a child, her sister had been the source of entertainment for her neighborhood's resident bullies. Meredith would cry and hide. Maeve pushed them all in the River Liffey after lessons.

"Which opens the door to a question I have for ye. What are ye doing on this fine day?" the fairy continued.

Maeve shifted uncomfortably. "I'm escaping."

"From Count Dracula?"

Maeve's green eyes grew as a wide as a well. "You know him?"

"'Course we do," said Daire. "He's as greedy as a goblin. But we do not fear him."

"He's the biggest stiff I've ever met, lassie. And he supposed to have this grand reputation with the ladies. Why any lass would think to have a jolly time in bed with a dead fish is beyond me," scoffed Robin. A smug grin teased his lips and laughter made his eyes twinkle.

Maeve's mouth dropped from the combined impulse to laugh and gasp. But then a nasty thought occurred to her. "He sent you, didn't?" she accused. "You want to trick me like any other dim-witted mortal. I do not know what he wants with me… but he sent you to sing his praises just like Felim!"

"Us? Defend him? Ha! Did you hear that, Daire? Quite a sense of humor, she has!" Delighted hooting followed. "He's not even one of us!"

This startled Maeve. "You mean… he's not a fairy?"

Robin snorted. Daire rolled his eyes. "Does Dracula sparkle like one of us?"

"Oi, we don't sparkle, either, you half-witted sod!" interrupted Robin. "We _glow _with magic. That sparkling nonsense is for sissy mortals who don't know Avalon from Elysium." His companion ignored him.

"Trust us, dearie," said Daire, detecting Maeve's uncertainty. "He is no kin of ours – but not completely an enemy. He's sport. You've been told our tales by your grandfather, yes?" Maeve nodded. "You've nothing to fear, lass. The vampire on the other hand…"

For some strange reason, Maeve felt pity. There were many dark tales of poor souls that suffered the wrath of the Good People. In fact as a child she'd suspected her grandmother had died from it. If the Count was a victim of their cruel tricks then that certainly explained his… unpleasantness during her interactions with him. She'd be in a foul mood too if she were the fairies' victim. The truth was that Maeve had never been so afraid of anything until she'd stumbled across him. Her greatest worries came from the English she'd been taught to hate and her mother's expectations. Dracula had frightened her more than she knew she could be frightened. She hated the feeling. She hated it more than she hated her failure as a woman. But now that those feelings had dimmed and she had an explanation... Maeve shook her head. Daire was talking to her and she was being rude as her sister.

"Then why are you here?" she asked after the fairy duo finished their explanation.

"Silly mortal," chided Robin. "Surely you know your choices?"

"Choices?" Oh what a lovely word that was.

"Aye."

"I… I'm listening." Maeve felt her heart quicken.

The bushes rustled as the duo slunk through the shrubbery. "It's quite simple," Robin replied silkily. "You plan on going home don't you? But what would you find there?" He paused and smiled grimly. "Don't answer that aloud, Maeve Reilly."

"It is well known of the rigid woman Brian's daughter has become," Daire continued. Maeve's skin prickled at the sound of her grandfather's name on the lips of a fairy. That was odd.

"Honestly, Daire," interrupted Robin. "I do not think young Maeve is as bright as we thought."

"I beg your pardon," Maeve said, stunned at the sudden change of mood. She missed Robin's wink.

"Oh, aye," Daire suddenly agreed. "If she be a smart lass she'd realize she didn't have to scurry home to her mama. She could start a new life anywhere she wanted. She could possess _freedom._"

Maeve paused. "Wait… just – just listen. I can't just disappear. They're my parents. My family and honor… I can't just run away from that and be selfish. I want them proud of me!" _Like they are always proud of Meredith without her even trying…_

"Aye. And you've always done what they commanded, have ye? Like takin' that teaching position. Your mother loved that, didn't she?"

Maeve scowled. "That was different – "

"Admit it, girlie. Ye haven't the pluck to do anything without permission!"

"That's not true! I snuck out of the house at night! I went to the library after work instead of coming straight home like I was told!"

The faeries laughed at her. "The heroes of old tip their hats at your courage, milady!" Robin hooted. "Centuries before your birth, warrior women fought alongside Finn MacCool in the Fianna tribe, the pirate Grace O'Malley stood before the Virgin Queen without fear in her heart and you cannot even make up your own mind!"

"How am I supposed to know what is right and what I want with so many… variables? This is not like my classroom where all the answers are in the textbook. So stop laughing at me!"

"You laugh when something is amusing, do ye not? So do we." The voices began to fade. The fairies were leaving. They had done their job.

"No, wait!" Maeve cried as she rushed forward. "Do not leave, please! What do I do?"

"She's a coward after all… pity." Their voices became echoes and just as sudden they had appeared they had vanished. That was their way. Maeve found herself sitting alone atop a bridge over the River Boyne. She wanted to hate and cast blame but didn't know what or who to stick it to. She wanted to scream she felt so frustrated and uncertain. But she couldn't just sit on the bridge, her legs dangling over the side forever. She had to make a decision.

She wanted to live a happy life. She hadn't felt carefree happiness in ages and freedom, oh, how did one achieve that without dishonoring their family? Maeve pinched the bridge of her nose. _Oh, make up your mind, you ninny! _She thought angrily. Things would improve once she had a plan. _Granda, think of Granda. What would he do?_ She had been sent here to be married but now that that obligation was obsolete… perhaps she could seek out her brothers and live with them. And it really was so lovely out here, surrounded by the lush, vibrant countryside.

She hated something else about Dracula. She didn't know him at all but he had been right, damn him, right about her mother. Catherine had sold her to a man she had never met. She didn't care about what Maeve wanted. Maeve clenched her fists in her lap. Her mother had told her she'd loved her for the first time in years – once she had won. Once Maeve's fate had been forged to Catherine's will, she showed affection. Maeve's green eyes shut tight in hurt. _Dracula knows nothing…he knows nothing of _me._ He'd would have had to be spying on me to know these things… he must be wrong! Then why was Mama so happy to ship me off? Why was she always angry with me until that deal had been made with a faceless man, eager to be rid of me until Meredith's wedding day? _Maeve opened her eyes, her gaze hard and determined.

_There is nothing for me in Dublin, save for Granda. I will seek his advice and then I will leave. _

But now that she had made her choice she was robbed of it. A scaly paw gripped her ankle and wrenched her down into the shadowed water below her before she could even scream. The creature had only one thought:

_Hungry. _

* * *

**AN: **Penny for your thoughts?


	13. The Bridge Part 2

**Chapter 12: The Bridge – Part 2**

_Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead._

-Benjamin Franklin

_You're off the edge of the map, mate. Here there be monsters!_

-Hector Barbossa, Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl

* * *

The vampire lord of Ireland, Conn Zaylour, lay in a bed of silk deep underground. He stretched his arms lazily and rolled over to shoot his lover a fanged grin. Finnguala smiled back, propping herself up on one arm. She spoke first.

"It has been a while. Dracula keeps ye busy."

Conn scowled and shifted tensely. "If I want to keep my power I have to stay on my toes. And if he finds out about you – "

Finnguala laughed and wrapped herself around the vampire. "I suppose he'd be jealous would he not? Here you are, the vampire lord of Ireland _and_ parts of Scotland, possessing everything you could want, and then there's the Morning Star's lab rat, sent on an errand like a whelp and not a bride in sight." Finnguala smirked. "_Relax,_ love. I have enjoyed this sport my kin have made of him. The vampire king is most entertaining. Besides, I can always vine him up again like I did at the Stone of Destiny."

"Yes," grumbled Conn. "But I still wish he would leave me and my territory in peace. His mistakes are no fault of mine!"

"Oh hush!" chided Finnguala. "Dracula cannot destroy you whilst you have me. You forget that it was I who helped you rise in human politics while you were alive and once you lay dying," Finnguala stroked Conn's arm with centuries' old affection. "I found the former Irish vampire lord and made him turn you. _I_ gave you immortality, Conn Zaylour. And I killed your maker so that you could take his place."

The Irish vampire smiled. "I have not forgotten. I owe much to you, including my power, _Nuala,_" he whispered, his use of her nickname nearly a purr. He slowly traced her delicate, pointy ears. "But _I_ have kept it all these centuries. And if the Count sees fit he can take it and you will not stop him." He looked up at the ceiling. Oh how he loathed the Count.

Finnguala snorted. "I do not fear anything, least of all the self-proclaimed King of the Vampires. Besides, he is no real threat to me or my kind. He is a _foreigner,_" she sneered. "And foreigners are always driven out, one way or another. And until then, we'll have some fun."

"Unfortunately, my dear, you should fear him. Especially this mortal English girl he's taken on the side. She has a fierce vendetta against the fey. She says you wronged her as a child."

"Oh? What is this mortal's name?" Finnguala asked, feigning interest.

"Margaret Dudley. Does the name mean anything to you? Was she previous sport, perhaps?"

"Nay. I've never heard of 'er." She shrugged and then shook out her short blonde locks. Conn twisted a strand around his forefinger.

"Well, she hates the Fair Folk and knows things about you, like your weakness to iron and so forth. The count promised to make her a vampire in exchange for her compliance. Daft little English woman."

"Trifles," Finnguala replied with a yawn.

Conn grit his teeth with annoyance and quickly added, "And she hates that Reilly girl the count is using to appease the devil, too."

"Ah, Maeve Reilly." Finnguala grinned. "Do ye know precisely what Dracula plans for her?"

"No. He won't tell me!" Conn replied with a hiss. "He's playing this very close to the chest."

"Oh, my ignorant love," Finnguala shook her head like she would to a small child, "can you not think of any ritual of this land he could use with the girl?" Conn glared at her. "Ah, so you have forgotten your own culture." Now she was disappointed and almost angry.

"I'm going to live forever," Conn replied defensively. Much of his Irish brogue had faded, too. "Why does knowledge of magic used so long ago matter? The count was displeased when I told him this. I could not answer all his questions about the Stone of Destiny and so forth. That's fey knowledge, not vampire. In any case, Nuala, he now seeks an Irish consultant."

"He'll use the girl."

Conn blinked at his lover's certain tone. "Who? Maeve Reilly? How do you know this?"

"Once he realizes how knowledgeable she is he'll double his efforts to win her over to square his debt and reclaim his status with the Morning Star."

"You know of the count's plans?" Conn asked. "What is it? Tell me!"

But Finnguala only smiled. "Why do you wish to know? It does not concern you."

"I don't want to be left in the dark! Besides if I know his plan I can - " he stopped, suddenly cautious.

"At the very end you can kill him if you wish. And if you can succeed." Conn looked her in the eye and relaxed again. "I will," he promised darkly.

"Either way it matters if he lives or dies. For now."

"For now? What do you mean by that?" Conn asked, suddenly no longer suspicious but curious.

Brown eyes flashed coyly with mirth.

"Oh, it is nothing, Conn."

Conn sat up straight and glared at Finnguala. "Tell me!" he hissed.

"Ooh, but it does not concern you, my treasure. Now, stop that hissing like an angry lizard! I'll tell you." Finnguala folded her legs under her like a deer and grinned at the vampire. "Surely you have noticed the rising tensions between certain members of my family recently?"

"Yes, yes, what of it?" Conn barked impatiently. Finnguala rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, the way you're behavin' like an infant I could be accused of cradle robbing. Anyway, this is not to be repeated," Finnguala looked pointedly at the vampire, warning him not to interrupt her again. "There is a power struggle. And we need the count to tap into our magic so we can in turn take it and claim Ireland for ourselves again. We haven't tapped into our artifacts for centuries. The knowledge is fading." Finnguala's voice became icy and furious. "It will not be long before all that was is lost forever. Therefore, we will play our games with the count, for I do adore games as you very well know, Conn." She winked.

"But in the long run we need him to win, at least for a short time. That is why I told you to bring him to the Stone of Destiny weeks ago, the first piece of the puzzle. Your king will do all our work for us. As for the Reilly girl, we need her to side with the count and become his ally to hasten our plans since you cannot advise the count in your culture."

Conn opened his mouth to defend himself but his lover put a finger to his lips. "Besides, this is such an entertaining game." She smirked. "Now get over here, vampire," Finnguala ordered flirtatiously. Her fingernails danced enticingly down Conn's front. "I have a meeting with Daire later so let's end this quickly – but on a happy note." Her hand went lower. Conn's mood brightened. _The Count is doomed._

_

* * *

_

Maeve sputtered as she clumsily sat up in the creek, her heart pounding. The current was not strong so she was in no danger of being swept away and drowning. But she was in danger of becoming a meal. She looked up to face the creature that had surprised her and nearly screamed, her heart pounding even harder.

The beast lingering just above her head was a monstrosity, resembling some terrifying cross between a spider and a monkey. It was only slightly larger than Maeve herself, but with all those legs spread out across the bridge's underbelly it looked at least three times as large. What was most startling was not the toothy smile, but the intelligence in the thing's eyes that looked so human. Maeve's shiver was not from the cold water. _Run,_ her mind screamed. _Swim. Escape! _

Maeve wobbled backwards. As expected, the creature shot out leg to capture her the second she moved. She screamed for the two fey that had announced their friendship, but no aid came to her of any sort human or otherwise. She was on her own, and while death by this thing frightened her, she felt much calmer than she expected. The faeries had not rushed to her aid and no vampire would be given her token to wear proudly in battle. Whether she lived or died this day was entirely up to her.

Maeve ducked and evaded its grasp, slipping awkwardly along. The creature growled and swung at her again. Maeve gasped and dove out of the way, landing completely underwater. She emerged immediately and could help thinking that this danger she was in felt so familiar. That is not a pleasant development. _My whole life I've never seen an Otherworldly creature despite my prayers and dreaming…now I can't seem to turn around without bumping into one. What is happening to the world? _she thought with bewilderment.

Out of the corner of her eye she spied her handbag just in her arm's reach, the strap held fast by a boulder. Not that it mattered. She had nothing she could use for a weapon. The rocks that cluttered the riverbed wouldn't make for good weapons due to their small size. Maeve hurled them with all her might one after another at the beast. It swung again, snarling and curled up into a ball to avoid her assault. Maeve took this chance to scramble away but the creature would have none of it. It lunged forward, grabbing Maeve's leg tightly.

She screamed and kicked but received nothing but a mouth full of water and scratches across her face from the pebbles as it dragged her. She splashed violently, sending water across the creature's face. It growled and released its prey immediately. Maeve looked up with surprise and sudden understanding as it clawed at itself to escape the water. The thing attacked directly at the water to capture her, but it always stopped just above, never touching the running water.

"That's it!" Maeve cried aloud. "You don't like water!" Grinning triumphantly, she scooped her hands into the water and splashed ferociously at her attacker, mimicking movements she had made so many summers ago as a child in the Liffey with her siblings and neighbors. The ruckus causing the water to rush up against the bridge's underbelly and the shoreline knocked Maeve's handbag free, spilling its contents.

Meanwhile the creature shrieked and twisted to avoid the waves. Maeve laughed at the spectacle. The creature clicked its pinchers irritably and gnashed its teeth together. It had not eaten in ages and was determined not to allow such large prey to escape. While Maeve laughed at her small victory the creature made its move.

The smug laughter died on Maeve's lips. Before she could scream she was brutally yanked into the air by her ankles, her skirt flopping over her waist to her head in an undignified, humiliating manner. Maeve thanked God Almighty there wasn't a soul around to see her knickers modeled for the world to see. But then just as quickly as she had been hauled into the air she was slammed down into the water the way a whale's tail slams against the ocean's surface. Underwater, Maeve did not move for several seconds, stunned from the impact. Then she began to struggle again. When the creature did not continue dragging her towards it but instead heavily pressed down on her waist and legs Maeve realized a horrible truth: the thing, frustrated with its uncooperative prey, had resolved to drown her.

Fear suffocated her as heavily as the water that denied her oxygen. Bubbles fled from Maeve's lips as she thrashed awkwardly, a fish caught in a net. _No! I can't die! I can't! _To never see another day, to have lost every chance at life and adventure she had, carpe diem and all that made her want to scream to the moon at the the beast would not let up no matter how viciously she wriggled. She needed air and her surroundings began to blur.

Just as Maeve was forced to accept that this might be the end of her short life she spied her savior. Her grandfather's dagger, a violent tool she would have refused if not for Brian's insistence, lay at the river's bottom, glinting in the sunlight. Maeve twisted around, kicking, clawing at the sand to reach the knife, her lungs burning. _How odd,_ Maeve suddenly thought, her fingertips just out of the dagger's reach, _that when you cannot breathe in water your insides burn like fire. Just a little further… _She stretched every inch of her body. _There! I've got it!_ Mustering her strength, Maeve blindly shot her arm behind her, piercing one of the creature's legs.

It howled in surprise, blood splattering and darkly staining the hem of Maeve's skirt. She burst from the water, filled with a new exhilaration, and lunged at the creature again. She had never fought with a knife before. But her inexperience paled in comparison with her fear of this unexpected death. A determined scowl froze her face over as she chose to fight. She cut and it howled. She ducked, then forced it towards the bridge and it shrieked in rage. With one last swipe, Maeve covered her escape with the rocking waves and floundered to the shoreline.

Once she reached it she scurried up the shore like a mouse, mud and sand clinging to her wet clothes, seeping under her fingernails, sinking into her shoes and coating her legs. She collapsed on the ground a moment later, breathing heavily. As the beast roared the loss of its meal, Maeve, still trembling, got up and began to run to the place where she would immediately demand answers and find out what exactly was going on in her country: Dracula's manor.

Well, perhaps she would not demand answers _immediately. _A bath and fresh clothes were in order, and her cuts needed tending. Oh, that would most definitely be a _long_ bath.

Meanwhile, Robin and Daire stood unseen a few feet from the bridge. The pet had done its job well.

"Almost too well," Robin remarked dryly.

* * *

Hours later, the only evidence of her scuffle with the bridge monster was the faint cuts that decorated her face. She didn't think they'd scar. Her ankle was sore from the monster's harsh grip and she'd limp for a few days, but that too would heal as if nothing had happened. A permanent change, however, was that Maeve now felt incredibly safe with her grandfather's knife hidden beneath her dress, whereas before she had cringed at just touching the thing. It had been eerie to spend her day in such a quiet, seemingly empty, house. Maeve appreciated the peace and she had been free to fix herself up. She hadn't any idea where the count was but he was bound to show himself sooner or later. Then she would give him a piece of her mind. But all things considered, she was in a relatively pleasant mood as she made her way to the kitchen. That of course, was when Margaret Dudley made her entrance.

"Where the bloody hell were you this morning?" Margaret snarled. Maeve groaned but didn't turn around to face her hated housemate. Perhaps if she ignored her she'd leave.

"Oh, just leave me alone! I'm too tired to prove your English stupidity just now. Come bother me later. I'm hungry."

Margaret sneered. "Oh, I'm so terribly sorry. I didn't know you were hungry. That changes things." Maeve ignored her, but could hear Margaret shift uneasily behind her.

"Now, answer my question, where have you been?"

"I don't have to answer to you," grumbled Maeve. She opened a cupboard in search of a plate.

"This is my house and while you're in it, you answer to me! I heard you leave and return. You made a great ruckus. You must be a clumsy, grimy elephant," Margaret stated haughtily. She repeated her question. Maeve's eyes narrowed and she tensed, ready to defend herself. Margaret was going to mock her for the mud and blood that contributed to her filthy appearance earlier today, not to mention the state of her face. Strange that she hadn't already insulted her about that. No matter, she would not give Margaret the chance. Just as she opened her mouth to retort there was a crash from behind her as Margaret knocked over a chair.

Margaret cursed and muttered, "Someone moved that chair. Who was daft enough to move furniture from _my_ spot?"

Maeve rolled her eyes and snorted. Deciding that Margaret wasn't going anywhere, the only thing to do was to turn around and insult her properly. "_Now_ who is the clumsy elepha – " Maeve stopped, eyes wide, and discovered why Margaret hadn't mocked her physical appearance. In fact, Maeve couldn't remember Margaret ever making a visual observation. Now she knew why.

Margaret Dudley was blind. And to Maeve's horror, the English woman wasn't just blind; she had no eyes at all. Where her eyes should have been there were twin black voids and just beneath her eyes were tiny, thin scars, as if some sort of animal had scratched out Margaret's eyes and made off with them. Maeve's mouth went very dry. How had she never noticed? True, she had only seen Margaret a couple times since her arrival, and both those times… Margaret had kept her hair over her face and stayed a fair distance away. Margaret had spilled her breakfast the day they had met and Maeve had thought it had been done on purpose. Perhaps she had jumped to conclusions due to her dislike for the English…

"Why so quiet, Reilly? Cat ate your tongue?"

"Your…" Maeve began in a whisper. "Your eyes… how?"

Margaret scowled. "Only just now noticing, are you? Figures you'd be so vain."

"I am not vain!"

"No, of course not!"

"I… I take pride in my appearance sometimes." It was the only thing about her men appreciated. "Forget this. Do you know where the count is? I'd much rather be yelling at _him._"

Ignoring her, Margaret stepped forward towards Maeve and hissed, "You want to know how I got like this, do you? Well, it was the barbaric deed of your kind! Those 'Good People' you arrogant, filthy mongrels hold so much love for did this to me when I was but four years old. I was born with the Sight, I could see through the disguises of the fey and other magical creatures."

Maeve's eyebrows shot up with surprise and awe. To have possessed such a dangerous gift…

"But the Good People don't like humans seeing them for what they are, do they? I just thought I'd found a new friend and called out to her… they clawed my eyes out! What a civilized country this is," Margaret spat. "I hope the whole lot of you rot in hell!"

"You can't blame a whole country for one misdeed!" Maeve defended. "Besides, you probably deserved it. If your people had not caused so much misery to mine – "

"Sod off, Reilly, and I don't bloody care what you want to do to the count!" With that Margaret kicked open the door and left. Maeve was stunned at the abrupt exit and complete disregard to her question.

"…A simple 'no I don't know where he is' would have sufficed," Maeve said in a calmer voice, hoping to have an answer despite her great dislike for Margaret. When she got no response and Margaret continued to walk down the hall, Maeve then released a shout of anger. "Fine! Just walk away like a coward!" After that she grabbed her food and headed for a special, flat place she had found on the roof where she could sit, enjoy the beautiful view, and eat in peace. And think. _Mmph,_ she thought. _English amadán._

Privacy from sitting up so high, leisurely eating her slices of bread, and watching the sun sink down below the earth was definitely a better end to the day than its beginning. But even as Maeve chewed, the sweet bread was sour. Margaret had to have done something to deserve her punishment. The Good People either liked you or didn't, and if they didn't they had a reason for it. Besides, she was English, just like the monsters that had in the past bled her country dry and deported her people to Australia, and presently withheld their freedom. She deserved it.

Then why did Maeve feel so guilty about it? Especially since she had been about to mock Margaret… She nibbled on another slice. She'd never pitied the English before.

"Perhaps, Miss Reilly, it is evidence that you are not so narrow-minded after all."

Maeve jumped at the voice's sudden appearance; however, she immediately knew who it belonged to. Thankfully, the voice's owner caught her arm and hauled her to safety before she could pitch herself off the roof. But he didn't immediately release his hold over her.

"Do you seek to learn how to fly?" asked Dracula, an amused smirk stretched across his lips. "I know you are a schoolteacher, Miss Reilly, but I would think you more intelligent than to put theory into practice in this highly dangerous manner." Maeve gasped, and made to move away, but was unable to. Instead, she found herself staring in the brightest pair of blue eyes she had ever seen.

"I'll leave flight to the birds," Maeve said, though her voice sounded much more rattled than she meant. She also couldn't help but notice that she was swallowing all the abnormal and certainly not human occurrences much easier and taking them in stride. Dracula noticed as well, but chose not to comment. "But I would like my arms back." They were crushed between Dracula's chest and her own. From beneath the safety of his cloak's hood, the count's eyes glimmered.

Unable to resist teasing her he replied, "Ladies say please when they want something."

Something about his tone made her blush bright red. "Considering the day I've had, I don't feel like a lady."

"Indeed." He was still amused but he let go of her. "You must have had quite an adventure to have destroyed your dress." Dracula stepped closer and leaned down. "Or perhaps, you find my taste in dresses for pretty women agreeable, yes?" His eyes darted south appreciatively. The dresses he had purchased for her were far from the conservative and modest fashion statement Maeve had comfortably donned her entire life.

"_No,_" said Maeve deliberately, redder than ever. "That watch-monster of yours nearly killed me!" Dracula crossed his arms and whilst leaning against a pillar, watched Maeve curiously. "And I don't know about you – " continued Maeve rather irritably. " – But having an unexpected death threat rather dampers my day!"

Dracula chuckled. "Indeed. And quite rude, too. Some people have some nerve, don't you agree?"

Maeve glowered. "Why did you have it attack me?"

Dracula made as if to grasp his wounded heart. "Why Miss Reilly, how can you think me guilty of something so dastardly? Whatever foul creature attacked you is not in my employ. After all, I would never dream of harming a single hair on your pretty head."

Maeve continued to glare at the vampire. "Given our previous encounters, count, I doubt that. I really, really do."

Dracula tsked. "Oh, what are they teaching young ladies today? Certainly not proper gratitude and appreciation." He sighed dramatically. "I guess I must instruct you in those subjects."

"I owe you nothing."

"Oh, I know, Miss Reilly. I don't blame you for your anger in this particular matter. Therefore I can only extend my most profound words of relief that you are alive and well. Believe me," he whispered. "Your untimely demise would upset me, truly. If only you had not abandoned my clemency."

Maeve snorted most un-lady-like. "I feel much safer from you than with you." She explained the folklore belief of remaining too long in a magical dwelling. Dracula's eyebrows rose at her self-justified superstition.

"Even if I just moments ago saved your life? How ungrateful."

"That was after I left! But –" Softening, Maeve looked down. "I – thank you for that. I don't know why you did. It completely contrasts with my image of you, but I am glad you saved me. I… suppose I owe you one."

"At least." Dracula smirked. Now he was making progress. "Your dim view of me is no fault of mine," he replied silkily.

"Actually, it is your fault. But, if you remove your cloak I will have an enlightened view of you." Maeve grinned at her cheekiness just as Dracula chuckled.

"That you would, my beauty."

"I would hardly describe myself as a beauty, especially with these scratches all over my face." Maeve flexed her injured foot uncomfortably.

"Oh, but they will heal. And the monster responsible for threatening your life will be punished, as will its master."

Maeve looked up, confused. "Master?" she echoed curiously.

Dracula nodded. "Of course, my dear. Who else set that beast upon you? I only wish I had warned you sooner. Oh, I feel so dreadful about it…"

"About what?" Maeve gazed upon the count with worry. "Explain."

Dracula waved her away. "No, I fear to tell you would spell disaster." Unseen, the thrill of the successful hunt shone bright on the count's visage.

"Tell me," Maeve pleaded. She placed a timid hand on Dracula's shoulder. "Please. If this concerns my life I have a right to know!"

"Oh, you have a taste for adventure don't you? You have come here for answers, haven't you?"

Maeve smiled shyly in agreement. But she eyed the count expectantly.

"Very well, m'lady. The one that set the beast upon you wishes to kill you for a most barbaric sacrifice."

Maeve's jaw dropped. "_What?_ Who? Tell me!"

Dracula leaned in close, eye level with his quarry. She could feel his icy, superfluous breath.

"The faeries."

Maeve's eyes widened three times as large. "No." She shook her head. "I'm Irish, we're part of the same country. We're kinsmen! Why would they wish me harm?"

"Perhaps you angered them," Dracula suggested smoothly. Staggering, Maeve backed away and ran her fingers through her hair.

"I couldn't have… I have done nothing to deserve their wrath… have I?"

"No, no, of course not," Dracula soothed. "Oh dear, perhaps you should sit down." He moved close to the girl again as Maeve shook her head vigorously. "But make no mistake. Death looms over your head even as we speak and it is by a fey method your death would come to pass." Dracula smoothed hair out of Maeve's eyes. "But never fear," he continued softly. "I will protect you." Maeve looked into his eyes with uncertainty.

"In fact, I protect you even now." Dracula leaned in close, a strong hand on the crook of her neck immobilizing her, his eyes never wavering and for one terrifying moment, Maeve thought he was going to kiss her. She didn't or perhaps, couldn't, move. Even though she could not see his face, save for his eyes, she wondered if it would be so terrible to be kissed by an immortal creature of legend. Not if all the stories of maidens carried off by lonely fey men were true, and they most likely were given recent circumstances.

But just then Dracula moved to her shoulder. He quickly jerked his hand down her shoulder and a moment later a fat, brown spider went spiraling to the ground, landing on its back with all eight legs twitching. Maeve cringed and swallowed hard. She took a step back from Dracula, shut her eyes tight, and counted to three in her head.

"Afraid of spiders?" Dracula asked, though the way he said it was more of a statement of fact, rather than a question. Maeve nodded and swallowed the dry lump in her throat. Dracula waved his hand with disinterest.

"Most women are."

Maeve swallowed again. "I was never afraid of spiders… until today." There were no monkeys in Ireland. She had only seen pictures of them in a book at the library. But if she ever saw one – Maeve shuddered. Meanwhile, she inched away from the tiny arachnid and unknowing towards the roof's edge. She kept her eyes on the spider.

"Miss Reilly," Dracula began with somewhat annoyance. "Please try not to fall off the building." Maeve glared at the count yet again, but glanced sideways to see that she was indeed in danger of toppling off the roof.

"Thank you," she muttered sheepishly. "That would have been a disaster."

"Yes," agreed Dracula. "Margaret would have been seriously displeased if her garden had been destroyed." Maeve's smile at his teasing was put to an end at the mentioning of her English counterpart.

"Heaven help us if Margaret Dudley is seriously displeased. _That,_ Count Dracula, would really be a tragedy." Maeve occupied her seat on the roof and stared at the night sky. "Poor innocent flowers," she muttered.

Dracula slowly advanced upon his Irish prize and watched her thoughtfully with a hint of amusement. "I would think that a schoolteacher would be above such petty malice. I was under the impression you were at least somewhat educated."

Maeve resumed her Reserved for Dracula glare.

"I have a good reason," she replied angrily. "The English have stolen and killed our land, they call us barbarians and hold our freedom for a ransom as high as the heavens! Our culture, our language, our very way of life dies a little more each year because of them!" she spat, standing up. "I hate them all! And if all I can do for my country is tell one English girl what I think of her then that's what I'll do." Dracula stood completely still at her outburst.

"But how could you possibly understand what it is like to watch foreigners invade your country and hold it prisoner? You can't possibly know how it feels for your fate to be held in the pompous, greedy hands of another."

Dracula was quiet for several seconds and the amused tone had left him. He crossed his arms. "You want justice – revenge too, if you scheme just right. You want them to cower before you and give you all due respect. For all the tears, sweat, and blood your country as wept you wish to make the enemy scream with regret and desperate promises for mercy."

Maeve stared at him aghast, yet hypnotized by his words. Deep down, she agreed, but would not admit it. Similarly, she felt as if she should apologize to Margaret. She just did not want to. Perhaps she'd sleep on it…

Dracula waved his hand dismissively and Maeve watched him carefully. "Correct, Miss Reilly. I know nothing of these things."

"H-how did you – "

"There is a purpose to my presence, Miss Reilly," Dracula interrupted crisply. "Such as the reason you are my guest but if you wish to be left alone I will leave that for another conversation."

"No, no." Maeve shook her head. "What is it, count?" Dracula leisurely advanced again.

"I have a task for you. A job, really."

Maeve's eyes brightened. "A job? Doing what, exactly?" She managed to sound suspicious but she couldn't help but feel excited about whatever it was.

"You are familiar with the ways of your country – the ancient ones, specifically."

Maeve laughed. "You're not likely to find another lass that loves those stories so well in all of Ireland, Count Dracula."

Dracula smiled. "Excellent. Here is what I have in mind – "

Maeve listened intently. She knew before Dracula had even finished talking what her answer would be. And she need not crawl back home to her mother yet again a failure! Maeve also knew with all certainty that this commission was perfectly suited for her.

What she did not know and wouldn't learn until it was too late, that this night she had handed Dracula the keys to her destruction.

And she wouldn't care.

* * *

**AN:  
**So to make up for my infrequent updates of late, this is the longest chapter I have ever posted. I hope you like it. Oh and Dracula, Darth Sidious called. He wants his cloak back. Hehe. On another note, when Dracula says, "The faeries," to Maeve, not only does picturing that make me laugh despite the serious situation, but I also imagine him shouting "I do not believe in faeries!" Maybe it's just me. Anyways I hope the chapter was satisfactory, please let me know your thoughts! Thoughts = quicker updates. Cross my heart. Until next time – toodles!


	14. Balance

**Chapter 13 – Balance**

_Three days later_

"Where do you want it?"

Maeve bit her lip, considering carefully. "Over there – no – _there. _Perfect. I like it."

Felim snorted. "Finally!" He pushed the dresser against the wall where Maeve had indicated. "Honestly, Maeve, you're my friend, but you are positively horrible at making decisions."

Maeve put her hands on her hips and mock scowled. "I am not!"

Felim rolled his eyes and stretched. "Oh aye, you are. It takes you forever to make up your mind and when you finally do, you change it. Again."

"I want to be certain. I like being certain of things." Maeve shrugged and hoisted herself up on her dresser, sitting just above her friend.

"You've always been like that," Felim replied, smiling. "If you don't know something, you find out about it. But what should I expect from a schoolteacher?"

"Homework," Maeve said dryly. She missed her young students. She would have brooded over it longer if she hadn't remembered that the count had employed her to teach her everything about her culture, myths and facts. _But really, they all seem to be facts now, don't they?_ She'd stumbled into a whole other world and as a result, needed to find her place in it. To help her accomplish that new image she had decided to change her bedroom furniture around to suit her taste, and not the count's.

Maeve's way of thinking was that a new room would mean a new Maeve, making her ready to face whatever magical trials thrown her way. She'd escaped the Bridge Monster by luck and instinct. That would not save her a second time, and the beast still lived… Maeve mentally berated herself. _Never mind that. _Her previous worries were banished – at least for now, and thanks to the count's generous offer. And his unexpected favor. As for redecorating her room, she'd foolishly taken on the task herself. Come sunset, Felim had discovered the disaster area and a cursing Maeve with a sore back.

"You know, you could have asked the Dwergi for help," Felim suggested. Maeve cringed.

"No. I do not speak their strange little language. Besides, they are creepy little things." She shuddered again.

"And so rather than ask for help, you choose to make a bloody mess of your room." Felim continued to grin impishly. "Typical."

"It's not like I set out to make a mess," Maeve replied with a light-hearted smile. "I just wanted to redecorate the room by myself. Didn't I do a bang up job?"

Felim snorted. "Aye. You were going for battlefield?" Maeve gasped in mock anger and hurled her hairbrush at him. With the speed only a vampire could accomplish, he plucked it from the air inches from his face. Maeve's lips parted in awe.

"How is it?" she asked. "Being one of them, I mean."

Felim slowly set her brush down. "Powerful. There is no feeling quite like it." Maeve went to ask another question but Felim cut her off.

"How are your lessons going?" Felim asked, finished rearranging all the heavy furniture. Maeve flushed.

"They are going well, I think. I enjoy talking to, well, a foreigner, about our country. There's something incredibly satisfying about it." Maeve's smile widened. "Do you remember the tales of the Four Treasures? Dagda's cauldron, and the like? Well, fancy this. The Count was most keen to hear about them, much like we were as children!"

Without warning, the other part of Dracula's deal entered her mind, to put aside their rough meeting and start a clean slate. Maeve unconsciously brushed against where her grandfather's dagger lay hidden under her dress. It would be no easy task but a fresh start was just what she needed. "As soon as we are done here, I'm to meet him in the library."

A visit to the village the previous morning had secured Maeve the means of wielding her knife properly. Felim wouldn't teach her. She crinkled her nose agitatedly. She was a _girl._ Her friend was honorable, but so stuffy at the worst of times.

"And he is interested?"

"Oh, he is very interested," Maeve replied naively. "I have never seen a man listen to me talk so intently." He always seemed…hungry when he looked at her. She blinked, suddenly uncomfortable. Felim was looking at her strangely amused. "Not like – _that!_ Besides, we only talk about Ireland and the Good People!" Though something else had been implied, but Maeve feared its confrontation.

"I was implying nothing else," Felim said slyly. "Though I hope you are happy here, all things considered."

Maeve frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

Felim leaned forward. "Oh nothing. I have never been happier. I do not regret choosing to be the count's servant." Maeve lifted an eyebrow.

"I only wish for your life to be happy, as well. You were so miserable before and the count can provide such delightful freedoms. You trust me, don't you?"

"Of course I trust you, Felim but I was not…miserable."

"Ha! You jest, friend. You hated everything about your life in Dublin save for two things: your job and your grandfather."

"I... I would not say _hate_." Maeve slid off the dresser to her feet and wrung her hands.

"Then what precisely, would you call it?" Felim crossed his arms over his chest and eyes Maeve expectantly.

"We have not gone riding in ages. Let's go to the stables." Maeve smiled in what she thought was alluring and fluttered her eyes coyly. "Please?"

Felim burst into laughter. "Oh, for the love of Mary and Jesus, if that is what you did with your suitors no wonder you aren't married!"

Maeve immediately froze, the shade of her face making the reddest apple look pale.

"Honestly, I always thought it was because you isolated yourself and went runnin' to your grandfather for _everything._ No man wants a wife that depends on any other man but 'im, among other things. But _that_ – " Felim indicated Maeve's face. " – if _that _is what ye did in the hopes of ropin' a suitor, no wonder you're in a bind." Felim hooted and slapped his knee. Maeve grit her teeth, furious beyond relief.

"It's what Meredith always does and look at her success!"

Felim snorted. "Oh aye, but your hussy of a sister knows what she's doing. That works for her." Of all the horrible things, Maeve felt shameful tears forming. That would not do.

"Just… Get out! Get out of my room, now. Please." She pointed at her door.

Felim put his hands up in surrender, but he still grinned like an arrogant schoolboy. "Oh don't be mad at me, Maeve, I was just jokin' with ye – "

"You don't know what you're talking about. Good night!" Maeve thundered.

Felim shook his head. "It 'twas a joke. But as I've struck a nerve, I think it may be the truth as well."

"_Out!" _

"Maybe you should take the time to find out what works for _you,_" he said curtly, "instead of obsessing over others, namely your sister. You'd be happier." Felim shut the door behind him.

Subconsciously fussing with her hair in her bedside mirror, she gazed at her reflection. Her scratches were nearly healed. She didn't have lovely, perfect twisted curls in her hair that were so highly regarded, but she had green eyes like a cat, and her red hair was long. Freckles scattered across her slightly upturned nose like fairy dust. She had been told since she was fourteen that she was a pretty woman. Why, of course she'd find a husband! And yet, nothing she had ever gained for herself had been a result of her physical beauty. Her post as a schoolteacher had not come from that. She had lost her temper too quickly. Felim was right, of course.

Maeve weaved her fingers through her hair and began combing it into a braid. Perhaps, her looks really did not matter. Just look at her now. She was a schoolteacher, not a debutante. She made a promise to herself: she would stop comparing herself to her sister from now on. The fact that Meredith had been proposed to first was not her fault. This situation was not her fault, and perhaps it was not her mother's fault either. From now on, Maeve would faithfully concern herself with inner beauty. That was she had been taught, what she had taught her students, and what really mattered.

* * *

"We are close, Master."

"I should hope so. If I was summoned for nothing – "

Antonio shook his head. "I am certain, Master. The Dwergi have been digging for hours. And I sense magic, fairy magic."

Dracula stared down at the dig site. "For all our sakes, I hope you are correct." He glanced at his servant. "Best beg the devil that the enchantments are easily broken, as well."

"Of course, Master."

There was suddenly a loud explosion and dozens of Dwergi went flying while handfuls more caught fire. The lucky ones died instantly. Dracula smiled. This was turning out to be a very productive week.

"Ah, we are indeed, _very_ close."

And not ten minutes later, the Dwergi hauled the fairy treasure forward, dropping the prize at the feet of their master: Dagda's cauldron.

* * *

Maeve was speed walking down the halls of the manor. How could she have done this? She knew that she was due to meet with Count Dracula in the library but what had she done? Why, distract herself with her hair and then the task of closet organization, of course. Now she was late. Resisting the urge to run, she rounded a corner. _Almost there!_ _Oh, why are there so many bloody rooms in this house? It's too big! _There were so many reasons why tardiness was unacceptable. Oh, she just had to multi-task, didn't she? She prayed fervently that the count had been detained in some meeting or whatever it was he did when they were not having discussions. _Just one more hall to go, _Maeve thought with renewed hope.

Once she came upon the library's grand doors, she rushed into them, bursting them open with a loud _bang!_ Ignoring what had sounded like a gunshot, she looked wildly around. The count was nowhere in sight. "Yes!" she cried happily. Spying her favored chair, she leapt into it triumphant.

Unfortunately, the wooden floor had been polished earlier that day.

Upon impact, her chair went slipping wildly to the side, taking Maeve with it. She slammed into a bookshelf with a loud gasp. Countless books shook violently and threatened to fall to the floor. Maeve was up in an instant, shoving her hands up to steady the bookcase. "No, no, no, _no!_" Forcing all her weight onto the bookcase, she backed it up until it stood straight and ceased shaking.

Maeve sighed with relief and sank to the floor, her skirt pooling around her legs. "Praise be to G – " A thick, hardcover copy of _The __Mabinogion _fell on top of her head with an ironic clunk. Rubbing her head with one hand, she put the book carefully back in its place and sank back to the floor. She would have taken this time to thank her lucky stars no one had seen this, but of course she was not alone.

Slow, purposeful applause met Maeve's ears. "Oh no," she groaned and immediately stood up and dusted herself off.

"Well, I must say that I have seen many grand entrances in my day, Miss Reilly, but none quite like that, and from a lady."

Maeve placed a hand over her eyes and held her head. He sounded amused. Very, very amused.

"Do not laugh."

Closing his book, Dracula emerged from his corner, striding towards Maeve, watching her with twinkling eyes. "Why would I decline the offer of laughter, Miss Reilly? I collect so few of them. Besides, it is very rare for someone to behave so foolishly in my presence."

Maeve removed her hand and stared at his hooded figure. "My pride can't take much more bruising for my errors tonight." At this Dracula did chuckle.

"But perhaps, you need not fear your pride's survival if you were on time," Dracula replied smoothly.

"I did my best, Count," said Maeve irritably. "I am sorry. It won't happen again. That is the best I can offer you."

The count said nothing, so she continued talking.

"I am sure _you_ have never done something daft to injure your pride and even if you did, I am sure you have never looked as ridiculous as I just did." She smiled slightly.

"But please, don't laugh. I – I know I have trouble being dignified like a woman should be. I'm too informal. Often I speak when I shouldn't and remain silent when I should speak up, but all that ruckus aside… That isn't why you gave me this job."

Maeve took a deep breath. "I just w-want to do the job you have asked me to do. I know I can do that well." Her fists clenched tightly at her sides and looked up to make eye contact with him. Why hadn't she just stopped talking? What was the matter with her? "Though… perhaps we should continue this another time? I'm quite frazzled now. I think it would be best if I just returned to my room." _And slammed my head against the wall all night._

Dracula stared at her, surprised at her sudden honestly, but chose not to question it. He would use it to his advantage. He walked over to her chair and swiftly placed it beside his own.

"Madam," he offered. Maeve paused, but then slowly smiled.

"Really? You still want to even after I made a complete fool of myself?"

"As you said, that is not why I asked for your assistance. I would very much like to continue our inspiring conversation from last night. Unless of course, you are about to lose your temper and throw an enraged fit?"

Maeve's hand went to her mouth as she laughed. "No, no I'm all right now, Count. Just embarrassed. But all I can do is learn from it and keep moving forward."

"Indeed." Dracula nodded in agreement and captured her hand and kissed her palm as she stepped towards her seat. Even though she quickly removed her hand without comment, her sharp intake of breath told Dracula he had been successful.

"By the way," Maeve said. "I will write my letter to my family as you suggested. As far as they are concerned, I am happily married."

"Splendid," said Dracula, leaning forward slightly. "And now you are free to have everything you have ever dreamed of. You're in a win-win scenario, my dear." Dracula smirked at his second victory for the night. She wanted freedom and happiness, and he had the means for it. He would not deny a pretty young woman her desires. After all, he had always been successful in that arena. He would make certain Maeve Reilly had her every whim fulfilled until the day she died. Her freedom in exchange for his was a fair trade.

His charm had not failed him yet. How did the mortals say it? Ah yes, a piece of cake. Although, he quietly admitted, after three nights of their discussions, a Scheherazade parallel crept unbidden into his mind. In a way, he could see the similarities. However he, unlike the Persian king, possessed self-control, nor was he so dully barbaric. And of course, the Irish schoolteacher and the Persian queen would have very different endings to their stories. What a pity.

"Well," Maeve began. "Where were we last night?"

"You were telling me of the fairies' beginnings," Dracula replied. "As well as the nature of their treasures."

"Ah yes. Well, they have been in the world for so long, it is difficult to say for certain. There are many versions of the tale with many variables," she explained. "Some say their fairy rings lead to an alternate world, the Otherworld, a world from which they crossed over at the dawn of time. But many others say that they were cast down from Heaven."

Dracula made an amused, slightly irritated noise at the back of his throat. "Did Michael hurl them down?" he asked sarcastically, reaching for his wine glass.

Unaffected by his cynicism, Maeve shook her head. "No, but you have entered the right story." She smiled again, but it was with a knowing sparkle in her eye.

"When the devil revolted against God and was cast out along with his traitorous angels, it is said that a third group of angels did not choose a side. They only watched the battle and would not involve themselves in any way. Some say they fled Heaven to avoid being forced to take part in the conflict."

"So your Fair Folk are cowards, are they? I am not surprised," Dracula said with a dark smile. Maeve's eyes flashed but she shushed him without comment.

"In any case, after the battle was over, God shut the gates of Heaven. Now the angels in Heaven remained in paradise, the betrayers became demons in hell, and the last group, became known as the fairies. They were sent down to Earth for their inability to choose a side."

"But is that not a choice in itself?" Maeve looked at Dracula strangely at his question.

"But they did not choose. They did not know who would win so did not involve themselves out of fear."

"Yes, but your God is the grand Free Will Lobbyist is He not? Choice must extend even to those who misuse it." Dracula sat back in his chair, swishing the liquid in his glass around.

"Yes," Maeve agreed slowly after taking a moment to think it over. "But the point was that they remained on the sidelines rather than help in the most important war in history!"

Dracula chuckled. "Oh, that is debatable. I could teach you a thing or two about important battles."

"I am certain you could," Maeve replied. "But there is no battle that exceeds the importance of the Battle of Heaven. It is _the_ battle, the original battle of Good and Evil. Without that battle, nothing would be as it is now," Maeve went on. "You and I would not exist. The world would not exist. Why, there would be… nothing. Just paradise."

"You are certain of that?"

"Yes," Maeve replied indignantly. "If you think about it that makes sense."

"I am bored already."

"Well," Maeve backtracked with an eye roll. "Don't fret, Count, the battle did happen, so you won't be bored. Congratulations are in order."

Dracula smirked. "But what of the gray areas?"

"Hmm?"

"The gray areas," he repeated. "Neither good nor evil."

"That would be the fairies," Maeve replied with a shrug. "They were not good enough… but not evil either so they were not damned to hell, but sent here. I suppose that is why their only weaknesses are related to the mortal world."

The count cocked a brow. "Such as?" he prompted.

"Oh, iron, binding them with words, trapping them in their own trickery, even the ring of church bells, supposedly, brings them pain."

"Really? They certainly don't like to spread that around," Dracula muttered.

"And even though fairies and vampires are not the same, I still place you in the same category."

"And what category is that?"

"I do not mean a fairy classification – the Good People have many of those. I mean that I think you are in the gray area," she explained purposefully. "A dark gray area. You may show me kindness now, Count Dracula, but I do not entirely trust you."

"In time," Dracula replied nonchalantly. "But you wound me, Miss Reilly! What incriminates me so?"

"Your eyes," she said solemnly, gazing at him thoughtfully. "They are all I can see of you – all I need to, really, for they are the windows to the soul."

"And what do you see?" he asked, his voice lowering to an ominous level.

"A mask," she replied calmly. "I cannot see you truly, because a wall made of mischief and plotting cloaks them. I judge you no further than that because we have made a deal to start anew. But that is what I see. Cloudiness."

"You have a good pair of eyes," Dracula replied softly. "I think your own family underestimates you." He stood up and leaned in close to Maeve. "But I won't. No – I will not underestimate you in every – single – way."

Maeve swallowed and fought the urge to turn away from his blazing eyes. "I'll hold you to that," she whispered.

Dracula's lips curved a little. "Hmm. We shall see what I can teach _you,_ Miss Reilly. I'm sure you'll need practice because," he leaned in closer. "The first lesson begins now." His hand reached over and engulfed Maeve's own petite hand on the table.

"I thought it was my job to give homework?" Maeve said shakily, afraid to move.

"Let us switch positions for a moment," he suggested. He slowly became closer and closer. "There is something dire that I simply must address. I think the real problem is – "

"The Dwergi are catching on fire again, Master!" Antonio shouted as he strode into the room. Maeve immediately scooted her chair out from under Dracula's large form and breathed heavily with relief. Dracula, in contrast, faced Antonio, and placing his arms behind his back in a single, fluid moment, stepped closer to his flustered servant. He ignored Antonio's immediate apologies.

"It is not my fault they are inflammable. They have grumbled to me about fire hazards for years. Don't be so incompetent, Antonio."

"Yes, but Master, this is a particular fire hazard," Antonio insisted. "Much like the one earlier this evening." Dracula's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

"I see. Well then I must deal with this at once." He turned to Maeve who was now standing up. "I offer you my most sincere apologies. We will resume our discussion tomorrow night."

"Oh, of course," Maeve stammered. "I'll just visit the – " Dracula and Antonio had already abandoned the library. The only evidence that the two vampires had ever been in the room was Dracula's empty wine glass and the swing of the wooden doors.

" – gardens…" Maeve pursed her lips irritably. "It must be important… And very dangerous…" Without another word Maeve dashed out the door and down the hall, following the sound of Dracula's furious voice and curious explosions. She ignored the little voice in the back of her head, pleading with her to cease her impulsiveness. It appeared she was heading towards the cellar. But the source of the sounds was coming from a room just before one would descend to the cellar. By the time she reached the room that housed the livid vampire king, she arrived just in time to hear him bellow, "Who set the security spells off?"

The remaining Dwergi each pointed at the Dwerger next to him, all grunting and bickering at once. A bright gold light lit up the room and hallway, causing everyone to shield their eyes from the sudden illumination.

Maeve cautiously peered into the room, and what she saw made her eyes widen and her jaw went slack.

"I don't believe it!"

* * *

**AN:****  
**Hehehe, Barbecued Dwergi. It amuses me so. So much, that I'm sorely tempted to make it a running gag. Anyways, hurray! I've updated in under a month since last time! Okay, by four days. But it's an improvement.

Trivia: The book, _The __Mabinogion,_ that fell on Maeve's head is a collection of medieval Welsh fairy tales. Also, the story about the fairies being locked out of Heaven for "not being good enough…but not evil either" is one of the many, many versions of their Genesis. I didn't pull that out of Van Helsing's hat for plot purposes.

Furthermore, I was doing more research on other fairy tales that are similar to Cupid and Psyche's situation, like _East of the Sun and West of the Moon,_ and _The Three Daughters of King O'Hara_, and I read that the transformation of a beast to a man, or just the fact that the heroine cannot see the man's true form, can symbolize the heroine's own fear and possible revulsion at sexual activity. Interesting.

I hope you all enjoyed this installment!


	15. Enemy

**Chapter 14 – Enemy**

"Was ever woman in this humor wooed?  
Was ever woman in this humor won?  
I'll have her, but I will not keep her long."

-William Shakespeare, _Richard III_, Act 1 Scene 2

* * *

It was many moments before Maeve remembered to breathe.

_That's Dagda's cauldron. That is _The_ Cauldron of Dagda, I can feel it! How is this possible? Does this mean that everything I ever thought was just a story, _everything_ is real? _This answer Maeve did not know. By her figuring, it was both yes and no by the accounts she'd seen of late.

The ancient fairy relic trembled like a thing possessed, rattling the floor. Behind Dracula, Antonio, and the squabbling herd of Dwergi was one other vampire Maeve recognized, though she had had no idea that he was a vampire: Conn Zaylour. Maeve stared for a moment, forgetting about the cauldron. Many times she had seen Mr. Zaylour at the Dublin City Hall. He'd always been hard at work, and yet he always carried a slimy way about him. In fact, there'd been quite a scandal concerning him plastered in all the newspapers a few years ago. _And he is Vampire?_

A deep rumble shook her from her thoughts. The Dwergi were scuttling about like frantic crabs on a beach. At Dracula's command, two more reached for the cauldron only to sink to the floor upon touching it, and then began to brutally fight with each other. Another Dwergi stepped forward, determined to obey its master.

"Stop!" Maeve shouted, rushing into the room. "Don't touch it! _No one_ touch it!" she looked pointedly at the three vampires.

Dracula's eyes widened a fraction of an inch before narrowing again. "Miss Reilly, this is not an appropriate place for you," he said, his voice low with warning. "It is much too dangerous."

Maeve made a sideways glance at the count as she strode over to the cauldron. "The entire world is much too dangerous, I think, Count. Yet I am here just the same."

Many angry lines creased Dracula's face. Fortunately his face would not freeze in that fashion. Antonio, in contrast, remained still in his effort not to grin.

"Miss Reilly," Dracula began again as Maeve stopped just before the cauldron. "I must insist you vacate the room." Even Maeve knew this was not a request. She ignored him.

"I can fix this. Otherwise you'll have no servants left at the rate the cauldron is going."

Dracula remained tense, but moved closer to the mortal. "What do you know?"

Maeve glanced sharply at him. "That you lied to me. You don't care about learning my country's ways so you could live here in peace: a fresh start. You just want our treasure! Our _birthright._" She kneeled in front of the cauldron, not touching it, searching for the inscription.

"You're no better than every other foreign invader," she whispered coldly.

Dracula halted. Maeve continued to study the still active cauldron at a safe distance.

"You are a _thief,_ parasite,lying, no good – "

"Enough!" Dracula's eyes flashed.

"Diabhal!" Maeve cried. But she didn't say another word. Strangely, she felt pleased deep down that she had gotten a response from the count. To find that she cared for such a thing, regardless of its form, frightened her. This was not like when she disagreed with her parents. During those, she had wanted any and all conflicts to disappear without comment.

"If you can mend my servants' error, do so. Otherwise, hold your tongue," said Dracula, clearly irritated. Maeve remained silent, but she glared. It didn't last long as she had found what she was looking for.

"I had meant this to be a surprise. You spoke so fondly of the Cauldron I thought it would please you to see it for yourself." Maeve calmed, surprised at this. He had been thinking of her, had meant to surprise her? And with such a marvelous gift! Then why did she feel she was being lied to?

Furthermore," he continued. "I have not lied to you, silly girl. There is much we can do for each other. I'll not have it spoiled by your temper."

Maeve looked at the count. "We have a…business relationship, Count Dracula, a mutual understanding of formalities, _only._" She said this with surprising and nearly embarrassing force. "But would you ever do business with a partner you could not trust?" She looked at Conn icily. Neither Conn nor Dracula missed this. Conn glared back at her.

_That little human brat better not spoil anything,_ thought Conn with a hard expression.

"Miss Reilly, I am most disturbed that you do not trust me after what I have offered you. We must work on your social skills."

Maeve ignored him and eyed the ancient inscription again. _How can he go from rage to amusement so quickly?_ She hesitated, translating the old language in her head carefully before speaking in her native tongue out loud.

"What are you doing?" Conn demanded.

"What does it look like? I'm trying to fix this botch up."

"You are no sorceress," Conn sneered. "You are but a human girl."

"Aye," agreed Maeve. "But I'm a human girl that knows Gaelic. And the way to command the Cauldron just so happens to be _in Gaelic_. I can try and replicate what any sorcerer – or faerie – might do."

"Seems awful foolish if you ask me," huffed Conn.

"Thankfully, none of our party asked your opinion," Dracula said quietly. "Miss Reilly, please continue." Maeve nodded towards Dracula, grateful for his apparent confidence in her improvisation. She dearly hoped she knew what she was doing. She began to speak again. As she spoke, the cauldron began to calm until at last it stilled completely. _Success!_

Dracula listened to the girl speak in her native tongue with peculiar interest. It was quite remarkable to hear the difference, and he was unaccustomed to the sound of an Irish brogue still. In fact, there had been moments where he'd needed Maeve to repeat herself when she spoke because the accent had fallen harsh on his ears. He was beginning to like the sound.

Releasing the breath she had been holding, Maeve carefully clutched her skirt and stood up. The cauldron had quieted like a rampaging child that had lost its energy. She had actually done it.

"Well done," said Dracula in a different, much less irritated voice. "You've charmed the cauldron. I am curious as to what else you might charm."

Maeve turned to him, her lips set in a firm line. For a moment she looked enraged again and it was evident to all present that she would yell obscenities at the count, but instead she shut her mouth and calmed herself. As she had always told herself with her parents: seeking out conflict would do nothing. She must choose her battles.

"One of the Four Treasures, the Cauldron of Dagda is a powerful vessel of magic," she began shortly. "When touched, it draws the person in with their greatest wish, but forever leaves them unsatisfied. You must wear gloves when touching it."

"The Dwergi _do_ wear gloves," Dracula replied smoothly.

Maeve shook her head and a smile threatened to crown her lips. "Not special ones." She refused to freely give more information on that particular subject. "Eventually, death will come after the victim has slowly become nothing. Chaos rips their minds apart like _that,_" Maeve indicated the twitching Dwergi on the floor. Maeve paused before speaking again; noticing she had everyone's full attention. The surviving Dwergi had already begun clean up. Aside from Granda, no man had ever cared about Otherworld fantasies and quests. In fact, her at times over-eagerness for the subject had no doubt cost her more than one suitor. She almost wanted to tell Dracula more, just for him to look at her like that. _Stop that!_ She thought furiously.

"I cannot believe that the legend my grandfather told me of its location is true," she murmured to herself, eyes cast to the floor. How had Brian known such a thing? Was it a coincidence? Or did he have some connection with the Good People she did not know about? "You should be more careful, Count," she admonished, quickly looking up again, meeting Dracula's eyes purposefully. Dracula noticed. "'Tis bad luck to disturb the dead."

Dracula's lips curved. "I am touched by your concern, Miss Reilly, but believe me, I know the risks." He smiled pleasantly, a counterfeit smile aimed to conquer that had calmed even Aleera in her fiercest of rages. Unfortunately, Maeve could not see it, not with his hood protecting his face in shadow. Instead Maeve only saw the eyes of a smug and arrogant man that had used her without her knowing it. She was unmoved by his most simple, powerful weapon.

"If you had told me what you were trying to do, Count, then I would have been convinced in my eager stupidity to share with you the locations of the other Three, what with this legend proving true, and all." She waved her hand dismissively.

Dracula suppressed a grimace. His plans really were not going well lately, after all. And she was not warming to him as she should.

"Now that I know you to be a treasure-seeker… Consider our lessons on hiatus until further notice." A smug look twisted Conn's lips the way a snake twists a sickly rat. Remaining silent, Antonio eyed him reproachfully. He would remember this.

"Miss Reilly – "

"I need to research," she finished shortly. "I need - Nay, don't ask me again! I need to think. There is much I need to look into. I'm not going anywhere, but I need to think," she repeated. God Almighty, she needed to get out of the room! She briskly began to make her exit, head held high.

"Miss Reilly," Dracula called, determined to save the evening. He moved to block the door. Maeve stopped, but refused to turn around, she _would not_. "You know quite well what we can do for each other," the count began, his voice a tone of supremacy and an unyielding will for victory. "Or must I refresh your memory a little in front of my servants, hmm?"

Maeve felt that terrible blush wash over her again. She turned around but would not meet the count's gaze. "I would not think it wise to speak so freely in front of your servants, sir. Not unless you trust their loss of hearing or control of their tongue." Conn's jaw set hard. If his fangs were not retracted he'd have snapped them off. In contrast, Dracula's lips twitched upwards. "Miss Reilly, shall I send for a particular book to aid in your research?" he asked charmingly.

"No thank you, Count. I won't be needing any book for my research." she replied politely. "I respect books, but I don't always trust them."

"You don't trust books?" Dracula found himself asking, bewildered. "You are a schoolteacher."

"Yes," Maeve agreed, "for mathematics and such, books are perfect. But in this arena, storytelling by word of mouth keeps the heart and soul. It stays with the family, the culture." _And yet my country's way of life is dying,_ Maeve's thoughts echoed. She ignored them, as she had been attempting for the majority of the evening.

"But books last forever."

"Oral tradition has been around for even longer."

Dracula eyed her curiously at her logic.

"And yet your traditions are at last being stamped out by civilization," sneered Margaret as she sashayed into the room. Maeve thought it was quite impressive that the blind woman could move about a large manor without the aid of a walking stick. Not that she'd ever admit to any such compliment.

"And a jolly good evening to you, Margaret," Maeve replied stiffly. Similar words, but without Maeve's sarcasm, greeted the English girl's entrance.

"Sorry I am late, Lord Dracula, we agreed to talk about my grievances, remember?" Maeve frowned unexpectedly. She felt…unsettled.

"I do," said Dracula, quite annoyed again. Grievances, indeed. He was quite sick of the woman's demands. Clearly, her lonely life devoid of pleasantries with her father had much to do with her current streak of selfish and petty desires. She was not clingy, in fact she was quite independent all things considered. But the girl was trying to make up for her sorrowful life with possessions simply because she _could._ It was a pity Dracula could care less about her irrelevant issues with the father she had handed over to be murdered. "But I am currently occupied, Margaret. You will have to wait until I send for you, as I had bid you do yesterday."

"Oh, you may speak now. I was just leaving," piped Maeve, inching towards the door.

"Before you do," Margaret said, cruel intention creeping into her voice. "Have you read the papers recently?"

Maeve shook her head, but then remembered its uselessness. "No, why?"

Margaret smiled darkly. "What a shame. That girl Bridget Cleary has been all over it."

Maeve swallowed. She had forgotten about poor Bridgie. They had not been close friends. They had only met once. But Bridget Cleary was remarkable. She had her own business completely separate from her husband and her own household. In fact, she actually had owned a Singer sewing machine! On top of that, she'd married for love and not for duty. Bridget was truly a modern woman, and Maeve admired her. Michael and Bridget Cleary began as a wonderful love story, but its climax and conclusion was of the horror genre. Bridget had gone missing in March, only to be found buried in a shallow grave, her corpse burnt to a crisp. Michael had thought her to be an evil changeling and so he cleansed her. A cold chill crawled down Maeve's back.

"And how would you know what is in the newspaper?" asked Maeve in what she had wanted to be a sharp tone, but had sounded weak and pitiful.

"It's read to me," Margaret replied coolly. "As for Bridget Cleary, her murder is livin' proof this country is a mad, mad place and needs the steady hand of Britain to guide it. Say goodbye to Home Rule. Not that you ever had a chance, anyway."

Maeve went ashen and a fierce anger bubbled up inside of her. "Domestic violence happens everywhere! I could write books on all the bloodshed England has had!"

"Yes, but her husband threw her in the oven like the Christmas meat, ranting about fairy possession and white horses on hills. The wild, insanity of Ireland must be curbed, don't you agree?" Margaret asked sweetly. "If this incident is repeated, there won't be a single Irishmen left in this miserable, filthy country. What a loss that would be."

Maeve's fingers were shaking. Never had she wanted to take a life with her own bare hands so strongly before. She wished she could think of something clever and spiteful to throw back at Margaret, but wit eluded her.

"Y-you – how d-dare you! Y-you – "

"My, how eloquent you are," Margaret said coolly. Maeve shut her mouth, wishing with all her might that Margaret could see the hatred Maeve sent her with her eyes.

"Now, Margaret," interjected Dracula. "You would do well to curb your own tongue. Miss Reilly is my guest and you _will_ treat her with respect."

Deaf to Margaret's reply, Maeve slid her eyes over to Dracula, and through her own anger, felt grateful. Strange that her only human companion in this place was her enemy and it was the Otherworldly creature that defended her. _Then again, he probably just wants peace in his own household._

"Besides, it is my wish that Miss Reilly's voice is not marred by her most unattractive stutter."

Maeve blinked twice, and chose not to respond, but after a second thought inclined her head to Conn. "I really wouldn't trust him if I were you, Count." Dracula's eyebrows rose at their shared sentiments.

"No? And why would that be? Conn has his uses. But then again so does a rat." Antonio hooted but Conn glared at Maeve to the point of a snarl. He was beginning to very much loathe this human girl.

"He is my countrymen," replied Maeve quietly. "And I know my people. But I am not practiced in politics, so I will leave your choice to you, of course."

Dracula silently appraised the mortal girl he had expertly manipulated into his manor. "Allow me to escort you to your room, Miss Reilly," he said, offering Maeve his hand. "Antonio can entertain Miss Dudley for a few minutes." It occurred to Dracula that neither woman could see him, and as a result, could not bend to his will that way. He really did hate the devil's decrees. At least Margaret was wanton and easily won. Maeve was an entirely different matter.

"Antonio?" Margaret echoed in an entirely different voice. The scorn in her was gone. "Where is he?"

"_Buenas tardes,_ Margarita," whispered Antonio from his spot behind Dracula. Within seconds he had led Margaret to the couch where he seated himself beside her. Conn rolled his eyes. _Oh please._

Maeve looked carefully at Dracula's hand. She'd buried her first impression of him, wishing to believe in benevolent magic. But she'd quickly categorized Dracula as a Grendel. Under his hood he must look a fright, and Maeve knew well the vanity of one's visage. It could be the seed of much turmoil. She eyed Dracula's outstretched hand again. Something was amiss. This she knew with all certainty. She took his hand. As soon as she did, she regretted it. Something was very wrong with her, and it made her heart skip a beat. But she reminded herself to worry so much. After all, she knew much about the Otherworld. Whatever Count Dracula threw at her, she was positive she could handle it. Granda had told her many stories.

Dracula grinned with victory as he led her down the hall. He was one step closer to securing her into his bed. He had forgotten the euphoria he felt when a won maiden tumbled into his bed after a chase. But then his thoughts darkened. He'd also forgotten that he was not chasing Maeve Reilly for her feminine charms. He needed her to be besotted with him, but for his freedom.

Once Dracula return, Antonio approached to his master and said, "Uf, Master! I thought Señorita Reilly was going to let you have it. She was not pleased with you."

"No," he agreed sourly. Aside to Antonio so Margaret and Conn could not hear he whispered, "she was not. But it is easy enough to make amends with a displeased woman. I cannot afford to fail, especially by the feelings of that girl."

Conn was seething. But he agreed with Dracula. He could not afford to fail.

* * *

Later that night, it didn't take long for Dracula to locate Maeve by her heartbeat. The girl had fallen asleep on a sofa, red hair fanned out, papers strewn everywhere. A closer look told him they were Maeve's notes – two pieces of paper were stuck to her forehead even as she slept and ink coated her fingernails. Dracula delicately collected Maeve's notes into a tidy pile and began to read the top page.

His brow furrowed in confusion but then he chuckled. Clever girl. She'd written everything in Gaelic. Luckily for her, he was amused by this, among other things that were in her favor.

* * *

The following morning, Maeve walked back to the manor, dejected. This was not how things were supposed to go! Maeve could not understand why she couldn't use the knife as well as she thought she should be using it. It was frustrating when one's determination didn't match their skill. But she would learn. She would just have to try harder. Ambitiously, Maeve wanted to learn how to use throwing knives, especially because she didn't relish close proximity to any attacker, especially if it was that monster she'd faced at the bridge. She certainly wouldn't be learning how to throw a knife any time soon, but she could be patient. She had to be.

Maeve was surprised she hadn't been killed already. How could she be so foolish as to walk about at all hours alone, without any means of protection for herself? She'd run into trouble already more than once. But she would learn from her mistakes. _I just wish there was an easier, quicker way, _she thought resentfully.

As an added, mishap, while in the village she'd run into Kian, a horrible, lecherous, bully of a man with a pack of hunting dogs in tow. Maeve glared at the memory. He'd made a despicable jest about her wares when he'd seen her after Mass. She had not known the man long but she hated him as much as she hated Margaret Dudley, and Kian was one of her own countrymen!

As she neared Dracula's manor, she noticed a hooded figure appear from under the bridge in the center garden. "Count? Oh – it's you. What are you doing?" Maeve's mood became darker.

Conn sneered at her. "None of your business, human girl!" he hissed. Maeve glared and rubbed her wrist fervently.

"I don't know what you are doing, Mr. Zaylour, but I won't allow you to injure the count. I know what you're capable of." Conn scoffed.

"It's Lord, actually. And please. You won't allow me? You're a _human._"

"Yes," Maeve agreed. "And this human knows your character better then Dracula, and I will tell him anything he needs to know. It's why he hired me."

"Perhaps," said Conn. "But you're still a weakling, perhaps even more of a weakling that I thought, judging by the way you keep favoring your right wrist." Maeve wrinkled her nose.

"It's all the writing I've been doing for the Count. You are treacherous _pond_ _scum._"

Conn flashed his fangs. "Good thing I have nothing to hide, eh?"

Maeve eyed his reproachfully. "Don't you? I'm sure the count would love to hear about the mess you made and how it was plastered in papers from here to Belfast."

Conn said nothing. He remained silent as Maeve shot him one last glare before entering Dracula's manor. It was most unfortunate for Maeve that he had decided he hated her perhaps as much as he loathed the count. And Conn had a talent for making those he despised miserable. Oh yes, the day would come when Maeve Reilly would deeply regret making an enemy of Lord Conn Zaylour.

* * *

**AN: **I hope this update makes up for the long wait.

Stuff I don't own: Dracula, Grendel from _Beowulf_ reference, Cauldron of Dagda, and Bridget Cleary. Bridget's story is tragically a true story. Also, Bridget having a Singer sewing machine is like her having the newest iPad/iPhone Touch/insert new age technology everyone wants here.

The chapter itself gave some good interactions I think. We got Dracula vs. Conn, Maeve vs. Conn, Maeve vs. Dracula, Maeve vs. Margaret, and some subtle Antonio vs. Conn. After all this hate and conflict I promise the Maeve/Dracula goodness is coming. They just have to get there. Thank you to all my readers and reviewers. You guys make me smile. All in all, what did you guys think?


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